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Often and often afterwards, the beloved Aunt would ask me why I had never told anyone how I was being treated. Children tell... Options
Daemon
Posted: Monday, August 31, 2020 12:00:00 AM
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Often and often afterwards, the beloved Aunt would ask me why I had never told anyone how I was being treated. Children tell little more than animals, for what comes to them they accept as eternally established.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
Bully_rus
Posted: Monday, August 31, 2020 12:49:32 AM
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Yeah. It's pure eternity. Even though it’s just few years old. We lose it somewhere along the road. What a pity. Right?
Adyl Mouhei
Posted: Monday, August 31, 2020 7:29:11 AM

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Well said.As a child I couldn't even find the words to express my experiences.
monamagda
Posted: Monday, August 31, 2020 8:11:56 AM

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Context from: Something of Myself

Chapter I

A Very Young Person

1865-1878


Give me the first six years of a child’s life and you can have the rest.

As a rule Morris took no notice of anything outside what was in his mind at the moment. But I remember one amazing exception. My cousin Margaret and I, then about eight, were in the nursery eating pork-dripping on brown bread, which is a dish for the Gods, when we heard ‘Uncle Topsy’ in the hall calling, as he usually did, for ‘Ned’ or ‘Georgie.’ The matter was outside our world. So we were the more impressed when, not finding the grown-ups, he came in and said he would tell us a story. We settled ourselves under the table which we used for a toboggan-slide and he, gravely as ever, climbed on to our big rocking-horse. There, slowly surging back and forth while the poor beast creaked, he told us a tale full of fascinating horrors, about a man who was condemned to dream bad dreams. One of them took the shape of a cow’s tail waving from a heap of dried fish. He went away as abruptly as he had come. Long afterwards, when I was old enough to know a maker’s pains, it dawned on me that we must have heard the Saga of Burnt Njal, which was then interesting him. In default of grown-ups, and pressed by need to pass the story between his teeth and clarify it, he had used us.

But on a certain day—one tried to fend off the thought of it—the delicious dream would end, and one would return to the House of Desolation, and for the next two or three mornings there cry on waking up. Hence more punishments and cross-examinations.

Often and often afterwards, the beloved Aunt would ask me why I had never told any one how I was being treated. Children tell little more than animals, for what comes to them they accept as eternally established. Also, badly-treated children have a clear notion of what they are likely to get if they betray the secrets of a prison-house before they are clear of it.

In justice to the Woman I can say that I was adequately fed. (I remember a gift to her of some red ‘fruit’ called ‘tomatoes’ which, after long consideration, she boiled with sugar; and they were very beastly. The tinned meat of those days was Australian beef with a crumbly fat, and string-boiled mutton, hard to get down.) Nor was my life an unsuitable preparation for my future, in that it demanded constant wariness, the habit of observation, and attendance on moods and tempers; the noting of discrepancies between speech and action; a certain reserve of demeanour; and automatic suspicion of sudden favours. Brother Lippo Lippi, in his own harder case, as a boy discovered:—

Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike,
He learns the look of things, and none the less
For admonition.


Read more : http://www.telelib.com/authors/K/KiplingRudyard/prose/SomethingOfMyself/myself_chap_1.html




mudbudda669
Posted: Monday, August 31, 2020 12:42:56 PM

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To True
Ajike Omooba
Posted: Monday, August 31, 2020 4:41:07 PM

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Hmmm....
johnfl
Posted: Tuesday, September 1, 2020 12:10:07 AM

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alright!
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