Christopher Bang,
Barrennjoey Road,
Sydney,
Australia.
April 3, 1960
Dear Christopher,
My right hand is stiff in jotting these lines, just as I am speechless.
I appreciate your choice to express all of which you have, especially as I was not aware of a great fraction of your story. However, your actions are indeed inexcusable.
You never loved me, Christopher. Your attempt to mask your lust-dominated mind with the tale that Anna bewitched you is disquieting to your mental health. And it would take the mouth of God to convince me that that allegation is anywhere near the height of truth. You are a sick, corrupt man, and I am abashed to have been so in love with you.
It is clear that stifling shame is what choked you into moving away; far from the minds that you polluted on my end of Sydney.
Good riddance, Christopher. Henceforth, there stands no more need to plaintively dread my letters.
Sincerely,
A.