Jessica, hearing the voices, felt the depth of the experience, realized what terrible inhibitions there must be against shedding tears. She focused on the words: “He gives moisture to the dead.” It was a gift to the shadow world—tears. They would be sacred beyond a doubt.

Un guerriero della luce presta attenzione agli occhi di un bambino. Perché quegli occhi sanno vedere il mondo senza amarezza.

Anne was curled up Turk-fashion on the hearthrug, gazing into that joyous glow where the sunshine of a hundred summers was being distilled from the maple cordwood.

Written By L.M. Montgomery

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