Status Updates From Anne of Avonlea (Anne of Gr...

“She had long ago learned that when she wandered into the realm of fancy she must go alone.”

“But an August afternoon, with blue hazes scarfing the harvest slopes, little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars, and a dancing splendor of red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in a corner of the cherry orchard, was fitter for dreams than dead languages.”