I have mentioned it twice - this bottom drawer - the fourth one down in the walnut chest next to my nun's bed. It contains all that I value - letters from admirers tied up with ribbon, my compositions, Wolfie's drawings for our targets in archery - mostly cartoons of naked bottoms, some small squares of silk from the dresses I've outgrown, family locks of hair and a collar that I made for Miss Pimperl when she was a puppy. It's a motley lot but it is mine. My compositions are there because they are the private proof of my passion. Everything contained in this sliding box is private or secret because I alone have the key. The bottom drawer seemed more discreet than the top, less likely to be discovered, although I sent Wolfie a copy of my latest song with a long story full of scandalous gossip. 'Cara Sorella Mia,' he wrote back post haste, 'you compose SO well . . . shit in your bed, make a mess of it.' Does he mean, to hang with the consequences? I am perfecting my form. N.