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- I'm far from being an intellect nor do I consider myself charismatic. In fact, I'm rather quiet, even shy but when the impulse strikes me to share my inner thoughts and I'm cut off rudely with a nonsensical comment at every encounter, my face may smile though not my heart. The real trouble was I wanted to like her and kept the door open again and again to revise my opinions but it never happened. When she died at sixty I felt remorse of what may have been. Someone called her a velvet bulldozer at the funeral. Velvet would not have been my word. Her childlike ways, a woman child made her someone you could dislike and avoid but never hate. She was just who she was for no better, no worse. If she wasn't family, I would have given her no thought but she was and therefore the larger part of me loved her.
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