by Claire Lindell
George was sitting at the dining room table where tiny boxes and huge albums were spread out, along with all the accoutrement he needed for the task at hand. 741 more words
388 more words
In different hours, a man represents each of several of his ancestors, as if there were seven or eight of us rolled up in each man’s skin,—seven or eight ancestors at least, and they constitute the variety of notes for that new piece of music which his life is.