Oh Lee,

It seems like only yesterday we were picnicking on the bank of the Lehigh, your hair still wet from our swim, your chest bare before me. We had our whole lives ahead of us, I about to enter the medical field with aplomb and you a newly-forged antiquarian.

And now I languish in exile, in the filth of this city. Every time a carriage gallops past or some roustabout brushes past me, I feel my heart about to stop. Would that you could be by my side again. I felt like I could take on anything if you were here. Alas, I’ll have to rely on laudanum in your absence.

At the very least, I’ve found work. I’m assisting in the new hospital that was just opened. No one here has heard of what happened in Allentown, so I can work in peace, relatively speaking. Still working under more established physicians, but in time, perhaps I’ll be able to establish myself, start my own practice perhaps. Somewhere quieter, less hectic. Somewhere where you can sit and enjoy the trees for their own worth. You could always appreciate such things.

I also have some information that may ease the sting of my absence. I go walking on Sundays to try and adjust to this cesspit of a city, and occasionally I run into a certain freedman in the narrows. Born somewhere in Africa, educated in Britain and ended up here as a librarian - at least, that’s what he claims. We’ve bonded a bit over neither of us attending church, though I doubt a yarmulke has ever graced his head, and he delights in telling me tall tales that go everywhere and nowhere. Last week, however, he told me a supposedly true story about an ancient king who, after a number of betrayals by his people, laid down a terrible curse upon them. I knew I recognized it from somewhere, but it wasn’t until today that I realized where. Right before the scandal, you told me of a stele found last year by a British expedition, the first known mention of the Folly of the Children of Anak. He told the same tale you told me, down to the plague of giant, subterranean amphibians. I doubt he follows the archaeological work of Europe closely enough to have heard of the stele; perhaps he knows of another source. I’ll try and press him for details. Even though we’re far apart now, I still wish to help as I can.

Please, do not hate or resent me for leaving. Your chances of succeeding in Philadelphia will be better without my presence or our history hanging over you. Focus on your studies, become the anthropologist you’ve always wanted to be. And when you’ve built yourself up and no one would dare speak against you…perhaps we’ll meet again. Until then, you will linger in my heart, dear Leonard.