"And then when she thought of her husband, she was filled with a sudden rush of pity that he was so hard and narrow, that he knew and you understood so little of the rich ess of life, that he never saw the beauty that lay in the sheen of a mallard's wing, in the lettuce green of a cottonwood leaves in spring or the warmth that came of a calf's nose nuzzling your hand. He had made all his land and the animals that lived upon it no more than a factory.".
- Louis Bromfield in "The Pond", The World We Live In, 1940
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