Within a few hours I had them off, was about ready to play the shows. That night I opened, and during the week Harris was over to the house to talk my mother into letting me leave home.
Mary Lou WilliamsAbout author
- Author's profession: Musician
- Nationality: american
- Born: May 8, 1910
- Died: May 28, 1981
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Cry, The Beloved Country, For The Unborn Child That's The Inheritor Of Our Fear. Let Him Not Love The Earth Too Deeply. Let Him Not Laugh Too Gladly When The Water Runs Through His Fingers, Nor Stand Too Silent When The Setting Sun Makes Red The Veld With Fire. Let Him Not Be Too Moved When The Birds Of His Land Are Singing. Nor Give Too Much Of His Heart To A Mountain Or A Valley. For Fear Will Rob Him If He Gives Too Much.
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I am late,' she said, 'I know that I am late. So many little things have to be done when you are alone, and I am not yet accustomed to being alone,' she added with a pretty little sob which reminded me of a cut-glass Victorian tear-bottle. She took off thick winter gloves with a wringing gesture which made me think of handkerchiefs wet with grief, and her hands looked suddenly small and useless and vulnerable.
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