Just, look! We were running this trail along the fields, because the way was so long and the day so warm, the mud on our trousers had dried when we came home. Once, aunt Helen with her hair combed always so tight to the skull, almost scared the hell out of us: she was standing in the middle of the farmyard, frozen, like a statue, a thread in her mouth. One of those hundreds of millions threads and fibers and strands all of us were bounding and collecting in all summers, all so restless. She was dreaming, this we guessed immediately, but what was holding her so tightly, we never found out this afternoon. — 1 month ago

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