Sister and I meet in my garden. Tomorrow is my weekly fertilizing day. “The Feast of All Plants,” I say. She chuckles, like a nun.
Sister and I meet in my garden. Tomorrow is my weekly fertilizing day. “The Feast of All Plants,” I say. She chuckles, like a nun.
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“Whenever I dwell for any length of time on my own shortcomings, they gradually begin to seem mild, harmless, rather engaging little things, not at all like the staring defects in other people’s characters.”
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