So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Senior year started with a whimper. He’s been near it once or twice already. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. Footman or some such. “I am sorry.
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