Dear
Your letter brings me comfort. Until it pierced my anxiety, I had enjoyed a frightened mind, pacing my cell in consternation, burrowing into myself with the dull spoon of second-guessing.
It was your letter, which I read on the toilet, that came (with great relief:) to extol glad tidings. I flushed the trouble that vexed me and reconsidered all that was before so worrisome.
Your letter reproved that phantom attachment of mine which I share with our enemies, namely, the conceit of a consumptive artist. If among this nation the spirit of envy had not so persuaded us, then I believe your testimony correct. You address the greed our nation pretends to conceal with majestic good neighborliness, and I agree that the symbol the SOA stands for is like the peacock—that vainglorious pursuit of geopolitical dominance. For a nation state to have pernicious citizens is for a body to have endemic weakness, a parasite, yet only the interior constipation can alert the body to consume more balanced meals. Likewise, the conscience inflicts compunction and the nonviolent reject cooperation.
Peaceable dominions arise from the agents who make manifest their conscience. You recall in me no greater purpose than this.
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