Finally, I decided to tell January about Casimir. I told January that I had recently met a boy who was the son of the man I was staying with. I mentioned that he was sickly but had a great imagination. I had showed him the letters which I penned to her, and he enjoyed reading them very much. He didn’t classify our writings as “dumb, sappy, girl stuff.” Instead, he commented on what a wonderful friendship January and I seemed to have. But I still didn’t tell my father. I didn’t want to, and I didn’t have to either. Besides, I could hide things from him, too. On the bright side, Casimir was more willing to let me into his life, after a while. In the past, whenever the doctor came to examine him, I had always been told to leave the room. Now, Casimir wanted me to stay, so I did. Unless it was something embarrassing or unsuitable that was not proper for me to stay for, I could be in Casimir’s room during the check ups.