Phylis. I took your letters in my hand and went and sat out the night before the Taj under the huge Indian moon, and so decided. The Taj is a love-song in stone. A great and gentle king sang it over the girl he loved, and since then no one has sung or builded anything so beautiful. It gave me a great yearning for a place to call home, and a roof to be over my head. I have had enough of standing in the wind. I am going to take your father's offer, and fold up the magic rug. I am coming home.
Faithfully,
Tomas Beauling.
