The invert child and her innocent child are together lost children, twinning each other despite their distinctions.
The warp and woof of our lives, sensible, sensitive, a veritable 911, she was called upon whenever something went wrong.
The hailstorm dimpled the roof of our car.
It is well we should be reverent in their presence and homesick for them — but a thousand homesicknesses cannot put up what Carlyle called my own four walls.
my own four walls
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