Dear Mr. King,

first of all you are asked to forgive receiving another letter probably in the category which occupies the larger part of your already over-full mailbox.

On the other day, you were sitting on your Hill surveying the landscape as usual. I don't want to let pass by unnoted how your Grace on That Day involuntarily betrayed to have been gifted with a keen eye for observing singularities of Nature which by men of lesser stature are not paid any attention (sometimes almost self-willingly so, as if by reason of some secret inborn stubborness). Suddenly your skylark voice flitted through the air, and your prompt action, by its rapidity, almost stole perception of the same from all-seeing eyes of Nature. It was evident that you needed help, especially on such occasion--no sustaining hand present within nearby surrounding--great need or some threat arising--, and to be able to provide such happened to become a privilege of grateful somebody who now struggles with some difficulty, difficulty regularly met by writer great & small, namely of translating it into the substitute world of character & sign.

Afterwards, I entreated you to "lift your ass from the ground" (or the manner might have been insignificantly different than set forth here) which, I admit, was rough and was surely betraying lack of basic education and elementary culture on my part. Which now summons next move of the play to the scenes of my memory, a move that completes and elucidates the aforementioned distinction from the common mentality: lack of each and every sign of, let's say, being offended. On the contrary, my admonition seemed to only increase your joy, and you instantly obeyed, with utter absence of, perchance, sense of humility or humiliation, yes, in truth, conclusively denying even a trace of such thought every claim to exist. By this I intend to say that your Grace evidently sprang from the ground entirely of your own accord, even though with intense, radiating sense of presence. Your Grace had "heard and acted", not merely "heard and reacted", or, quite possibly, "not heard and whatever". I assure you that I seek a way but in vain, a way to describe how impossible it is for you to conceive what an absolutely astonishing impression such a show makes on a mind more or less stupefied by the routine ways and false lights of ordinary world. I don't know what happens if virtue becomes conscious of itself. I'm afraid to think of it.

I would keep you permanently ignorant of your own dignity if you ask me. I tremble when I think of the various means Miss World will use because "you are not being obedient" and of allurements & punishments which will be your share because "you are not having free initiative". I shake in despair at the thought of how these two basic methods will be used on your Grace in succesion, interchangeably, or in perverse & less perverse combination. I don't really care if the former is called by the State "socialization" and the latter by the Church "excommunication", no, it doesn't matter to me whether School calls it altogether "education" or "entertainment" or how does so-called Real Life calls it to-day.

We also shaked hands, which your Grace doesn't remember most likely. The barriers between our ranks are too great. Would our contact come to the ears of the Court it would mean, I imagine in my ignorance, first-rate scandal, perhaps even ruin to your Grace whose delicate situation is so dependent on public opinion, perhaps even prison to me on the other side. I wouldn't go into how amply this last incident confirmed what I already had assumed and in what manner if it didn't in fact surpass my assumption and my expectation. Suffice it to say that your Grace's radiant aspect seemed to behold more Heaven than the Earth, that even rusty springs (such as I imagine them uniformly incorporated inside my mattress for support) don't approximate what upright, bold countenance I can still envision when I close my eyes, don't convey bold step which, despite the gray haired crown of wisdom, was full of youthful vigor and dexterity, and was approaching the place where I was standing, forgetting myself. The hand was unlike what I ever got to know on such occasion, with fingers divergently protruding, not unlike five-pointed star. I only shake my head over it now, but then I had no time, for sincere openess must have evoked the same in my soul. Be it how it may, your Grace's hand fitted into mine as if it was made for it, defying all the laws of physics, biology, and socio-chemo-eco-microbiokinestesiologismologism.

"So long," one of us said, I don't remember who it was and probably I never will. I admit I'm too sloppy sometimes. "So long," another replied, like, it's most natural and unobtrusive thing that could happen.

There remained certain inquisitiveness, unsatisfied. What was another's business? Where will life's path take him? I'm sadly moved with it all now, but it'll pass. Because in the first place, it was strange, your Grace, indeed it was.

Oh shit. I remember now. It was you. You were first. I mean, Your Royal Grace was before me. So long.