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anything, she was not enough She could not be ie deadened her fro needle All her

life was directed by her awareness of hiainst her mother

Her father was the daherein her consciousness woke up

But for hione on like the other children,

Gudrun and Theresa and Catherine, one with the flowers and

insects and playthings, having no existence apart from the

concrete object of her attention But her father came too near

to her The clasp of his hands and the power of his breast woke

her up almost in pain from the transient unconsciousness of

childhood Wide-eyed, unseeing, she ake before she knew

how to see She akened too soon Too soon the call had come

to her, when she was a small baby, and her father held her close

to his breast, her sleep-living heart was beaten into

wakefulness by the striving of his bigger heart, by his clasping

her to his body for love and for fulfilnet

led dihly for the country When she

was little, Ursula pattered about in little wooden clogs, a blue

overall over her thick red dress, a red shawl crossed on her

breast and tied behind again So she ran with her father to the

garden