The first room was a hall — a long hall, empty and dark, except for the shafts of light that came from the Opened doors of the rooms that went up and down the hall. There were no windows. I don't know how old I was but it's my first remembered memory. I think I was a baby. I know that I knew that I was a stranger in a strange place, that my Mother was gone and that I wasn't home. I wondered about the other rooms; who was talking in them, and if there were things to look at and play with. I found a toy in the hall. I would run suddenly into one of the shafts of light and stand in it and feel warm and as if someone were looking and then lean back into the dark, alone and cool. Sometimes I'd stand half in the light and half in the dark and sway back and forth and watch the light and dark on my hands and dress. When the light was really light it would look like gold and diamonds if I squinted. And I had pleasure squinting just right so that it looked all full and rich and beautiful.
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