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returned the formal hug, not wanting to embrace her further, but then she held on tightly, and I knew she was hugging me goodbye for a long time. I kissed her on the cheek and left—I would not let her see how deeply I cared, how much I had wanted tonight to happen, how I wished I could change the past.
     The truth was I did not know when I would see Claire again, and my leaving London forever was perhaps the best decision for everyone. If only I hadn’t ruined my chance with Claire all those years ago. Perhaps she wouldn’t have found comfort in Richard’s arms. Perhaps she wouldn’t have loved him, wouldn’t have married him. In that moment, I wondered how different my life would have been if I had married Claire.
    fiv e A CURIOUS LETTER
    Paul Watson’s Journal
    April 27, mornin g . — The tick-tock of the clock, the yells of children playing and the roar of motorcars and omnibuses and taxicabs woke me from my usual nightmare. Barnaby Teller’s woolly dog yelped for his breakfast. A gentle morning wind blew the gray curtains by my open window, and as time passed, the outside noises of Peddler Street grew and grew until they meshed into one pandemonium from which no single sound could be distinguished.
    But I wasn’t ready to rise from my bed.  Not yet. I relived last night’s events for an hour or more, and when I finally stood, my insides swelled with incredible guilt, for I found myself justifying my actions and hoping that what occurred between Claire and me would happen again. And rage. I still felt incredible anger toward Richard for what he’d done. He would come to me. He would talk to me about it I was sure, and then I would tell him how I felt. I made a decision then to put what had happened between Claire and me aside, and wait for Richard to confess what he had done.
     
    Evening . — Oscar and I spent the day reviewing the benefits of occupational therapy for patients—the patient demonstrates his independence, which in turn builds self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-pride. Life then becomes worthwhile.
    He supervised as I conducted a full physical examination of a woman, age forty, who came to Maudsley in a state of agitated anxiety, verbal hallucinations of hearing, and severe asthenia.
    “She has a feeble cardiac action and very low blood pressure,” I told Oscar, who watched me intently as he adjusted his gold spectacles.
    “I’m going to treat her with one half milligram of adrenaline subcutaneously.”
     I told him that with this treatment twice daily, her anxiety hopefully would decrease in about twenty days, and her blood pressure would increase. Oscar praised my accurate diagnoses and treatments, and then we reviewed a few other cases.
    I arrived home after the long day tired and hungry. Thankfully, Eda had dinner prepared, and I quickly finished my fish and potatoes.
    “The girls are going to miss you, Paul,” she said in her silvery, soft-spoken voice. “When I saw Francine and her friends at the fishmonger’s today, they were devastated you were leaving.”
    “Really? I thought Francine ‘never wanted to see me again.’”
    She cleared my plate from the table.
    “She’s seemed t’ve changed her mind now that she knows you’re leaving. Of course, then all of the girls started arguing over who should get to marry you.”
    “I guess I have no say in the matter.”
    Eda laughed.
     “Oh dear, I almost forgot. You’ve received a letter,” she said.  
    She’d kept it in her apron, and when she handed to me I saw that it had specks of sludge on it. The letter felt damp and fragile in my hands.
    “Poor letter must’ve been splashed by the rain yesterday.”
     The return address on the letter was from Whitemoor, and I thought perhaps it was from Charlie or Doctor Reid with details about my journey.
    Surprisingly, the letter was from Amy Rose, a girl I had known as a young boy. I had not heard from Amy since I was thirteen. I had given her a tiny piece of paper with