But In My Humble Opinion,

I Probably Coughed Self-pityingly In Response, Little Aware That I Was About To Cross A Tremendous Threshold Beyond Which There Would Be No Return, That In My Hands I Held An Object Whose Simple Appearance Belied Its Profound Power. All True Readers Have A Book, A Moment, Like The One I Describe, And When Mum Offered Me That Much-read Library Copy Mine Was Upon Me.

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.

It Was Such A Pleasure To Sink One's Hands Into The Warm Earth, To Feel At One's Fingertips The Possibilities Of The New Season.

Cassandra's Grandmother Smiled Then, Only It Wasn't A Happy Smile. Cassandra Thought She Knew How It Felt To Smile Like That. She Often Did So Herself When Her Mother Promised Her Something She Really Wanted But Knew Might Not Happen.

It's A Terrible Thing, Isn't It, The Way We Throw People Away?