When I was a little girl, we once lived in a big white Victorian style house with a wrap-around porch and inside, a huge staircase. At least it seemed huge to me at the time. We rented one side of the house from Mrs. Blevins, a really nice rich old lonely lady who loved for us to come and visit. I remember her serving us warm rice with butter and honey and a little cream. Her husband had died a few years earlier, and she rarely had company so we became somewhat like her family. I loved that big old house and I loved the big porch, my family and Mrs. Blevins. However, there were times when I felt sad or lonely and there were times when I didn’t want to talk to my family or Mrs. Blevins. I just wanted to be alone all by myself just to think my little…
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