...to Be Paid For One's

[when] He's Here, He's Always Reading. He Says Books Stop Time. I Myself Think He's Crazy...don't Tell Anyone, But When He Reads Something That He Likes He Gets Real Happy, Turns On The Music, And Dances By Himself, Or With A Broom Sometimes.

Their Powerlessness, Innocence, And Imagination Fused To Enable Them To Turn Time Inside Out, Travel On The Wind, And Enter The Souls Of Animals.

World War Ii Is The War That Made Our World. There's No Question About That. The History Of All The Years In Which I Will Spend My Life, Every Single One, That Is The Seminal Event Of The History That We Will Experience.

And If You Were A Spirit, And Time Did Not Bind You, And Patience And Love Were All You Knew, Then There You Would Wait For Someone To Return, And The Story To Unfold.

Such A Thing As The Child Left Alone To Die In The Hallway Was Unknown On The Marsh. But Here, In The Dawn, Was Mortality Itself. In The City Were Places To Fall From Which One Could Never Emerge -- Dark Dreams And Slow Death, The Death Of Children, Suffering Without Grace Or Redemption, Ultimate And Eternal Loss. The Memory Of The Child Stayed With Him. But That Was Not To Be The End Of It, For Reality Went Around In A Twisting Ring. Even The Irredeemable Would Be Redeemed, And There Was A Balance For Everything. There Had To Be.