When I think of my mothers death, worn out with persecution, poverty, and largely consequent disease, in the effort to hand on to us small boys the Faith, and remember the tiny bedroom she shared with us in rented rooms in a postmans cottage at Rednal, where she died alone, too ill for viaticum, I find it very hard and bitter, when my children stray away (from the Church).(Letter 267). J.R.R. Tolkien
Posted on: Tue, 18 Mar 2014 23:29:14 +0000
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