There's Naught As Nice As

Death Is Always Sudden However Long One Waits.

Sometimes Since I've Been In The Garden I've Looked Up Through The Trees At The Sky And I Have Had A Strange Feeling Of Being Happy As If Something Was Pushing And Drawing In My Chest And Making Me Breathe Fast. Magic Is Always Pushing And Drawing And Making Things Out Of Nothing. Everything Is Made Out Of Magic, Leaves And Trees, Flowers And Birds, Badgers And Foxes And Squirrels And People. So It Must Be All Around Us. In This Garden - In All The Places.

Only In Dreams Of Spring Shall I Ever See Again The Flowering Of My Cherry Trees.

And They Both Began To Laugh Over Nothing As Children Will When They Are Happy Together. And They Laughed So That In The End They Were Making As Much Noise As If They Had Been Two Ordinary Healthy Natural Ten-year-old Creatures—instead Of A Hard, Little, Unloving Girl And A Sickly Boy Who Believed That He Was Going To Die.

Might I," Quavered Mary, "might I Have A Bit Of Earth?