filtered | Smith & Pole
Oh, well, trousers. Capital offense.
I nearly telephoned you last week (and how strange, to type that out for you on this little thing, but that suppose that is what comes of this place) when I woke at night. Not because of terrors or any one particular thing but because in that moment it felt so wrong that you were not there, that I could not press my lips to your shoulder to reassure myself of -- everything. For that is what you are, Septimus, co-cartographer; home. (And perhaps now you may wake first. Once or twice.)
Which windows give the best light? For we must make that space your studio and, yes, my office.