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WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL
She turned and looked at me, her face startled, and touched me—I remember how gently she touched me.
“Before you die," she said, “it will be easier.”
I thought then that she meant that I would grow used to it. Now I know that she meant what I meant when I woke that night, and remembered my dolls lying out in the grass and the dew, and was not sorry, but glad: Glad that the time was almost come—for real playthings.
