The autumn passed into winter. Philip had left his address with Mrs.
Foster, his uncle’s housekeeper, so that she might communicate with
him, but still went once a week to the hospital on the chance of there
being a letter. One evening he saw his name on an envelope in a
handwriting he had hoped never to see again. It gave him a queer
feeling. For a little while he could not bring himself to take it. It
brought back a host of hateful memories. But at length, impatient with
himself, he ripped open the envelope.