It Meant That She Belonged Some Place.

People Looking Up At Her--at Her Smooth Pretty Vivacious Face--had No Way Of Knowing About The Painfully Articulated Resolves Formulating In Her Mind.

It Was The Last Time She’d See The River From That Window. The Last Time Of Anything Has The Poignancy Of Death Itself. This That I See Now, She Thought, To See No More This Way. Oh, The Last Time How Clearly You See Everything; As Though A Magnifying Light Had Been Turned On It. And You Grieve Because You Hadn’t Held It Tighter When You Had It Every Day.

Everything, Decided Francie After That First Lecture, Was Vibrant With Life And There Was No Death In Chemistry. She Was Puzzled As To Why Learned People Didn't Adopt Chemistry As A Religion.

From That Time On, The World Was Hers For The Reading. She Would Never Be Lonely Again, Never Miss The Lack Of Intimate Friends. Books Became Her Friends And There Was One For Every Mood.

Dear God," She Prayed, "let Me Be Something Every Minute Of Every Hour Of My Life. Let Me Be Gay; Let Me Be Sad. Let Me Be Cold; Let Me Be Warm. Let Me Be Hungry...have Too Much To Eat. Let Me Be Ragged Or Well Dressed. Let Me Be Sincere - Be Deceitful. Let Me Be Truthful; Let Me Be A Liar. Let Me Be Honorable And Let Me Sin. Only Let Me Be Something Every Blessed Minute. And When I Sleep, Let Me Dream All The Time So That Not One Little Piece Of Living Is Ever Lost.