L.M.M.

Take down Volume II, the last years when she was happy.

The tiny woman in the pince-nez, the veiled black hat,

black gloves, and a smartly tailored suit stares out at the

reader. Her thoughts, too, were veiled: from her husband,

her congregation, her readers, who expected only sunshine

from their favourite writer. Only in her journals could she

let off steam, as if she were a volcano about to erupt, words

flowing from her...