I claim Dickens as a mentor. He's my teacher. He's one of my driving forces.
An evil for these times destined to move through the world in handsome human guise.
I touched the small sacred images. I shook my head and bit my lip, as if to say, How awful that he should have stolen these! But I also found it very funny. And further proof that God had no power over me.
He could not even see the images which I was seeing, so broken was his heart.
How shameful. How predictable! How insipid. And how sweet.
I've always been proud of you, except when you retreat, and give in to your suffering. I haven't been so proud when you do that. But you always come back. No matter how dreadful the defeat, you come back.