I look at my yesterdays for months past, and find them as good a lot of yesterdays as anybody might want. I sit there in the firelight and see them all. The hours that made them were good, and so were the moments that made the hours. I have had responsibilities and work, dangers and pleasure, good friends, and a world without walls to live in.
Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small.
Nor would I willingly miss the early darkness and the pleasant firelight tea and the long evenings among my books.
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