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Cargando... The Namesake [short story]por Willa Cather
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Seven of us, students, sat one evening in Hartwell's studio on the Boulevard St. Michel. We were all fellow-countrymen; one from New Hampshire, one from Colorado, another from Nevada, several from the farm lands of the Middle West, and I myself from California. Lyon Hartwell, though born abroad, was simply, as every one knew, "from America." He seemed, almost more than any other one living man, to mean all of it-from ocean to ocean. When he was in Paris, his studio was always open to the seven of us who were there that evening, and we intruded upon his leisure as often as we thought permissible. No se han encontrado descripciones de biblioteca. |
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"For the first time I felt the pull of race and blood and kindred, and felt beating within me things that had not begun with me."
I liked this sentiment immensely. It captures that moment when you know you are connected to something larger than yourself and that the blood that flows through you originates with others, who have paved your way. I have felt this in looking at old picture albums and, when I was a child, listening to my Grandpa tell stories of his own parents and siblings, long since dead.
That the subject of the story was a very young Civil War soldier also struck a chord with me. I have always had an interest in that war and the particular horrors of losing so many of our young men in the prime of life in a battle between brothers, that might have been settled in such a less costly way, had both sides only wished to do so.
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