“This was so. As the skipping rope hit the pavement, so did the ball. As the rope curved over the head of the jumping child the child with the ball caught the ball. Down came the ropes. Done came the balls. Over and over again. Up. Down. All in rhythm. All identical. Like the houses. Like the paths. Like the flowers.”

-Madeleine L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time. [a journey into animus]

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