It was one of those cold wet April Cambridge mornings. Too wet for fog, but too indifferent for rain. My head ached. My lips were dry and my tongue felt bloated. The fever had surely come back. Worse–the laudanum was wearing off. Tonight would be dinner at Langdell’s. To say I was apprehensive does not quite capture my condition. It was to be an important affair. I had been asked to attend. It felt like a convocation of sorts–though to what end, I remained unaware.

Still, it occurred to me that I would have to finish what I started.   The shock would be rude, but I would have to follow through–either here or somewhere else.