She was a logical child, as far as children go. She did not understand how such a nice, kind, good God as the one they preyed to, could condemn the whole earth for sinfulness and flood it, or condemn his only Son to a disgusting death on behalf of ev...
She grew up in the ordinary paradise of the English countryside. When she was five she walked to school, two miles, across meadows covered with cowslips, buttercups, daisies, vetch, rimmed by hedges full of blossom and then berries, blackthorn, hawth...
She was a thin, sickly, bony child, like an eft, with fine hair like sunlit smoke.
The reading eye must do the work to make them live, and so it did, again and again, never the same life twice, as the artist had intended.
