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It consists of everything from birth till death each and every thing told so beautifully.
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It consists of everything from birth till death each and every thing told so beautifully.
When a child is lost there is no end to the self-torment a parent may inflict. When we love, and the object of our love is small, weak, and vulnerable, and has looked to us and us alone for protection; and when such protection, for whatever reason, has failed, what consolation (what justification, what defense) may there possibly be?