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Childhood
Leo Tolstoy/Tolstoi

Page 1 of 122


CHILDHOOD 

HAPPY, happy, never-returning time of childhood! How can we help
loving and dwelling upon its recollections? They cheer and
elevate the soul, and become to one a source of higher
joys. 

Sometimes, when dreaming of bygone days, I fancy that, tired out
with running about, I have sat down, as of old, in my high arm-
chair by the tea-table.  It is late, and I have long since drunk
my cup of milk.  My eyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and
listen.  How could I not listen, seeing that Mamma is speaking to
somebody, and that the sound of her voice is so melodious and
kind? How much its echoes recall to my heart! With my eyes veiled
with drowsiness I gaze at her wistfully.  Suddenly she seems to
grow smaller and smaller, and her face vanishes to a point; yet I
can still see it--can still see her as she looks at me and smiles. 
Somehow it pleases me to see her grown so small.  I blink and
blink, yet she looks no larger than a boy reflected in the pupil

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