<Outlined by Dust>
He stares at me
as I empty the wash water at the roots
of Ma’s apple trees.

He stares at me,
maybe he’s looking for Ma.
He won’t find her.
I look like him,
I stand like him,
I walk across the kitchen floor
with the long-legged walk
of his.
-January 1935 - P115


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Roya’s mother had always said that our fate is written on our foreheads when we’re born. It can’t be seen, can’t be read, but it’s there in invisible ink all right, and life follows that fate. No matter what. - P50


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It seems to me curious, not to say obscene and thoroughly terrifying, that it could occur to an association of human beings drawn together through need and chance and for profit into a company, an organ of journalism, to pry intimately into the lives of an undefended and appallingly damaged group of human beings, - P7


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<Apples>
Ma’s apple blossoms
have turned to hard green balls.
-June 1934 - P57


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<Apples>
Ma’s apple blossoms
have turned to hard green balls.
-June 1934 - P57


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