Uncloistered

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  “She gazed ahead through a long reach of future days strung together like pearls in a rosary, every one like the others, and all smooth and flawless and innocent, and her heart went up in thankfulness. Outside was the fervid summer afternoon; the air was filled with the sounds of the busy harvest of men and birds and bees; there were halloos, metallic clatterings, sweet calls, and long hummings. Louisa sat, prayerfully numbering her days, like an uncloistered nun.” A New England Nun By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (1852–1930)

Randoms

  • Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog. He is writing a "newe set of tales. Thinketh of this: the image of the viage of an erthely pilgrimage ys but a maner of shewinge the wey of thilke parfit glorious pilgrimage into the celestial spheeres of the skye, in which we shal weare awesome shinye clothes and have swooshie laser swordes and eek have snappye dialog and sweepinge orchestrale bakkeground musique as we flye arounde the sunnes and moones and thinges-that-are-nat-moones. And thus Ich am writinge nat of pilgrimes on erthe but of pilgrimes -- wayteth for yt -- IN THE STERRES!"

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