Sometimes, when she's out here alone, she can feel the pulse of something bigger, as if all things animate were beating in unison, a glory and a connection that sweeps her out of herself, out of her consciousness, so that nothing has a name, not in Latin, not in English, not in any known language.
-- T.C. Boyle, When The Killing's Done --
Have a great Thursday!
*****
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Thank you for your words!