Dramatis Personæ, Chapter 3

⁠​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌⁠It seemed to her that it was all one with the coming of the springtime, the budding of the flowers, and the westward wind—the miracle of the baby. One was first one's own sentient self, bending to the wind with the trees, breasting the curling waves of summer, and patiently listening to the song of some ambitious bird, and, before you knew how, a little thing had come nestling under your wing. The