...like A Grain Of Sand That Gets

Tiny Fists Can Hurt Quite A Lot When They Hit You In The Face.

At Least I Was True. My Intellectual Abilities Gave Me A Release, And An Excuse. I Shunned Company Because I Preferred Books; And The Dreams I Confided To My Father Were Of Becoming A Scholar In Good Earnest, And Going To University. It Was Unheard-of Several Shocked Governesses Were Only Too Quick To Tell Me, When I Spoke A Little Too Boldly -- But My Father Nodded And Smiled And Said, 'we'll See.' Since I Believed My Father Could Do Anything -- Except Of Course Make Me Pretty -- I Worked And Studied With Passionate Dedication, Lived In Hope, And Avoided Society And Mirrors.

You Are Attempting To Be Logical, I Suspect, And Logic Has Little To Do With Government, And Nothing At All To Do With Military Administration.

My Sheets Had Never Been So Clean As They Had In The Past Few Months. I Hardly Got Them On Again Before Something Else Happened And I Was Feverishly Ripping Them Off And Stuffing Them In The Wash With Double Amounts Of Soap And All The "extra" Buttons Pushed: Extra Wash, Extra Rinse, Extra Water, Extra Spin, Extra Protection Against Things That Go Bump In The Night.

It's Hard To Look Too Grand When You're Led By Someone Who Looks Like A Pudding With Legs.