emerson collective

Architectural drafts
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Stashed in the attic at Elmwood are about 30 of my great great uncle Harold Robinson’s drafting assignments from New Hampshire College ca. 1909.

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The man himself, during his senior year.

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There’s nothing quite as satisfyingly simple as inked lines on paper and I love that they manage to be both utilitarian and sensitive. Plus I’ve been gravitating towards less feminine things for my house lately, gotta balance out the collection of antique teddy bears somehow!

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They really should be framed (and hanging in my apartment!) instead of living in danger of attic mice snacking on them. That would be a tragedy with a capital T.

The moon was high and bright. I could see his face clearly. It was what I call his stone-pharaoh face, stiff and remote as the statue of Khafre at the Museum. I thought he was angry until he leaned forward and pulled me off the bench and hugged me so hard I could feel my ribs creaking. “One of these days,” he said in a choked voice, “you are going to make me forget I am supposed to be an English gentleman.”

Well, my dear, I was pleased! For years I’ve been trying to shatter that shell of his and get him to act like a human being. Occasionally I succeed—usually by stirring up his temper!—but the moment never lasts long. Making the most of that particular moment, I held on to him when he would have drawn away.

“You’re trembling,” I said suspiciously, “Are you laughing at me, curse you?”

“I am not laughing at you. I’m shaking with terror.” I thought I felt his lips brush my hair, but I must have been mistaken, because he returned me to the hard seat with a thump that rattled my teeth.

An excerpt from Letter Collection B in The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters