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1 " This was the hour she loved; this lonely hour when the others were distant in sleep and she was alone in the house; when she could cry if she wanted to, or curse, or sit at her work and think or remember and no longer be anything but herself. There is a latitude to late night, when one's thoughts dare to travel, and the emotions are free, no longer frightened by confinement. "
― Elizabeth Enright , Borrowed Summer
