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"The lighting, the lash of wind, But spur the soul; the storm calls wild, The sh [[strikethrough]] e [[/strikethrough]] Ackles of men's fate unbind A lover from lost worlds exiled!" Later, she turned to mysticism, and her mental flights bordered on madness. "'Twixt you end me and other worlds Oh, demon of destruction, We seek to find our double selves Lost in Death's constellations". Perhaps the hate of such a personality could prove more beneficial than her love. It provided the occasion for showing strength in opposition; for holding firmly to what she did not represent; and finally for bringing to bear judgement against the injustice of her tyranny. My brother, whom she loved, was easily swept into the turmoil of her existence. As his congenital weakness were not discouraged, they developed, as time went on, into serious disorders. In the confusion about her my mother crested an atmosphere of continuity which made no distinction between night and day. Indeed, she had no consideration for Time and would have banished it altogether. She rarely slept during the night and [[underline]] never [[/underline]] went to bed. Her meals were served at any hour of the day or night, and sometimes, by her orders, they were noteserved at all. Those in her immediate circle could but follow her example and accept the dictates of her eccentricities. Fortunately there were times when she was quite lost to the world, and these were our most pleasant moments. She would converse with [[strikethrough]] to [[/strikethrough]] herself, or rather [[strikethrough]] to [[/strikethrough]] invisible friends, and for such intercourse