#18126 - Here I was, a morning of housework and cooking behind me, walking in the park, staring at the river, remembering how Little’s violin had soared as she played the Beethoven concerto, reflecting on the Brontë novels, trying to forget Laura, planning another e-mail to a magazine, struggling for the will to edit a company’s annual report: a multi-dimensional person. It was a scream compounded of pain, rage, revulsion, bewilderment, incredulity and fear, an intoxicating cocktail. War weapon, punishment, enslavement, religious practice.
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