The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 5
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“I can hardly make up for that now, Agnes. One cannot eat cake in the street without good reason.” (Perhaps something to be questioned?)
7%
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Life must be lived. And if we can enjoy some of it, so much the better.
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“A sister. I believe in sisters. I have eight of them.” “Eight!” I exclaimed. He tossed his spectacles onto his desk. “Extraordinary, isn’t it? One for every day of the week, with a spare for holidays.
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“Some things must wring out every last ounce before the end. But your mettle is proven, Miss Lion. You will be weighed and not found wanting. Memories are preserved, sacrifices are honoured, and all the moments before half-open windows are known. In the end, all is mended.”
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And I think that was the moment I began to suspect that the luck Hawkes spoke of might really only be an awareness, an awareness of grace.
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“You are far too confident with the space you take up in this world.”
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“Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.”
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“He said he wished you to be wise, and good, and true to the beatings of your own heart, and hoped that you could be spared the extremes of society, both the very poor and the very rich, so that neither need nor indulgence would spoil the soul he loved more than anything else in the world.”
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The memory came to mind just now. And something I’ve not felt for longer than I care to admit began to take shape. That, come sunshine or cloud, I was going to be fine. More than fine. In place, and strong, and anchored in. Tonight, Islington became a stake. And Pierce. And Mary. And Saffronia. And Hawkes. All I can think of is the sound of the rain on the canopy, and everyone still smiling.
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“No one warns that you can be ripped, joint from bone, simply by staring at a box, simply by holding a bit of earth in your hand. Mother was a great admirer of the Virgin Mary, and I know that phrase always moved her. ‘Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.’  It may be blasphemous to say it, but that’s how I felt, standing there. And not only did the sword pierce, but it was twisted before the end.”