“They are glorious. They are magnificent. You will love them. You have years of pleasure ahead with them and the light at your side. I’ve only begun to look at them and to read. With a magnifying glass. But you won’t need the glass. Your eyes are stronger than mine.” “We can read them perhaps … you and I … together.” “Yes … all his twelve books,” he said. He talked softly of many miraculous little images, of tiny humans, and beasts and flowers, and the lion lying down with the lamb. I closed my eyes. I was grateful. I was content. He knew I didn’t want to talk anymore. “I’ll be down there, in
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