I still remember attending my first lecture on symbolism, it was in art, not a war book like Silent Heroes, but it told a story. I fell in love. My own studies were as far from literature and art as the moon is from the man who occupies it.
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It was an erstwhile custom that a mother, no matter how elderly or ailing she felt, would take it upon herself to bring food to her lad bided elsewhere as soon as the snow thawed and the first white spring shoots pierced the ground.
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