This Is My Own

This Is My Own

This Is My Own

This Is My Own

Excerpt

When you are so poor that you don't know where the next cent is coming from, or so rich that you can't imagine what, when the next cent comes, to do with it; or when you are neither; when you are miserable, when you are glad; when the world is going to pot through war, or rotting--if it ever does--through peace; when you are in love, when you are not; "when other helpers fail and comforts flee," or when they don't; when, in short, the present is so much--either of good or bad or just plain mediocrity--that you can't see beyond it, then look out . The present to us two, Frances and me, was just like that. We'd traveled westward as far as British capital had ventured to lay tracks; and there at Glenties, County Donegal, we stood, homeless--except for our bags beside us on the ground; helpless--except for our legs and pocketbooks--and utterly . . .

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