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316 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1945
We all know families that are poor but ‘respectable’. Mine, in contrast, was extremely rich but not ‘respectable’ at all. At the time I was born they were outrageously wealthy, but those days are long gone. Sad for us, though quite right in the moral scheme of things.
Like most children I was an animist and generously ascribed souls to objects and plants. What were inanimate objects to others, to me were full of feelings, and I would run to greet them. They did not play dead with me; they replied in a simple language, sufficient for those who knew how to hear.… Almost all the poplars were my brothers… The elders lavished their friendship and protection on me, and the games my cousins and I played depended on their assistance. Their leaves were our train tickets; when we straddled their branches, we had a horse; the smallest branches became whips used by our redoubtable cousins to frighten us; and we twisted the very smallest twigs into crowns for our coronation as king or queen.