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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"The Hidden Places"


My God, no one with sight knows the despair that the blind sometimes
feel. And the promise of seeing--you can't possibly imagine what a
glorious thing it is. Every one has always been good to me. I've been
lucky in so many ways. But there have been times--you know, don't you,
Bob?--when it has been simply hell, when I struggled in a black abyss,
afraid to die and yet full of bitter protest against the futility of
living."
The tears stood in her eyes and she reached for Hollister's hand, and
squeezed it tightly between her own.
"What a lot of good times we shall have when I get so that I can see
just a little better," she said affectionately. "Your blind woman may
not prove such a bad bargain, after all, Bob."
"Have I ever thought that?" he demanded.
"Oh, no," she said smiling, "but _I_ know. Give me the baby, Myra."
She cuddled young Robert in her arms.
"Little, fat, soft thing," she murmured. "By and by his mother will be
able to see the color of his dear eyes. Bless its little heart--him
and his daddy are the bestest things in this old world--this old world
that was black so long.


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