These bitter sorrows of childhood when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless. (George Eliot)

These bitter sorrows of childhood when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.

George Eliot

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beyond bitter childhood fly hope sorrow space strange summer yet wings days

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