Every meaningful encounter is a kind of enchantment — it comes unbidden and breaks without warning, leaving us transformed.

It is hard enough for a human being to attain such purity of being, harder still to share it with another. In a passage that to me is the purest, most exalted measure of love — love of another, love of life — she writes:

Could two live that way? Could two live under the wild rose, and explore by the pond, so that the smooth mind of each is as

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