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THE CHILDREN'S ASYLUM The nuns are talking but she can't understand what they say. She feels far away, in this ward where all the beds are tilted upright, are too tall, are trees. Long thin girls are sleeping in them, wearing leaf-nightdresses, listening to the birds in their pillows. Her own bed is a tree, the sheets are rough as bark. Like a tree she has no arms, can't move, has no legs, is growing roots into the floor. Her dreams are ...