Sometimes he listened at her door. The active silence within was terrifying. It was interrupted only by the sporadic rustle of papers, which confirmed that Helen was not asleep but writing in her journal, filling page after page in one thick notebook after the other. Benjamin respected her privacy too much to pry, but on one occasion, when he knew she was at the other end of the house, he inspected her diaries. German, French, Italian, and, perhaps, other languages (he wondered if they were, indeed, proper languages) were intertwined in each sentence, forming braids that Benjamin, confined to
...more
Once again, where are these writings?
