I have done quite a lot of things today that needed doing. I also managed to get to Mass, which was good.
I am up to page 1,164 of Tolstoy - less than 200 pages to go! I want to get to the end of the book by the end of this year. That would be good. But it will entail hard reading. I should probably not stay up all night on the 30th of December when I am going to a party on the 31st. I shall just have to manage my time judiciously. I am not very good at that. (Depression does not make it any easier, either.)
Here is a passage from Tolstoy (from Book XIV, chapter II); pages 1162-4:
Petra ought to have known that he was in a forest with Denísov's guerrilla band, a verst from the road, sitting on a wagon captured from the French beside which horses were tethered, that under it Likhachëv was sitting sharpening a sabre for him, that the big dark blotch to the right was the watchman's hut, and the red blotch below to the left was the dying embers of a camp-fire, that the man who had come for the cup was an hussar who wanted a drink; but he neither knew nor wanted to know anything of all this. He was in a fairy kingdom where nothing resembled reality. The big dark blotch might really be the watchman's hut or it might be a cavern leading to the very depths of the earth. Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might be the eye of an enormous monster. Perhaps he was really sitting on a wagon, but it might very well be that he was not sitting on a wagon but on a terribly high tower from which, if he fell, he would have to fall for a whole day or a whole month, or go on falling and never reach the bottom. Perhaps it was just the Cossack, Likhachëv, who was sitting under the wagon, but it might be the kindest, the bravest, most wonderful, most splendid man in the world, whom no one knew of. It might really have been that an hussar came for water and went back into the hollow, but perhaps he had simply vanished - disappeared altogether and dissolved into nothingness.
Nothing Pétya could have seen now would have surprised him. He was in a fairy kingdom where everything was possible.
He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the earth. It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it looked as if the clouds were passing, and a clear black sky appeared. Sometimes it seemed as if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes the sky seemed to be rising high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so low that one could touch it with one's hand.
Pétya's eyes began to close and he swayed a little.
The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was heard. The horses neighed and jostled one another. Someone snored.
'Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg...' hissed the sabre against the whetstone, and suddenly Pétya heard an harmonious orchestra playing some unknown, sweetly solemn hymn. Pétya was as musical as Natásha and more so than Nicholas, but had never learnt music or thought about it, and so the melody that unexpectedly came to his mind seemed to him particularly fresh and attractive. The music became more and more audible. The melody grew and passed from one instrument to another. And what was played was a fugue - though Pétya had not the least conception of what a fugue is. Each instrument - now resembling a violin and now a horn, but better and clearer than violin or horn - played its own part, and before it had finished the melody merged with another instrument that began almost the same air, and then with a third and a fourth; and they all blended into one, and again became separate and again blended, now into solemn church music, now into something dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant.
'Oh - why, that was in a dream!' Pétya said to himself as he lurched forward. 'It's in my ears. But perhaps it's music of my own. Well, go on, my music! Now!...'
He closed his eyes, and from all sides, as if from a distance, sounds fluttered, grew into harmonies, separated, blended, and again all mingled into the same sweet and solemn hymn. 'Oh, this is delightful! As much as I like and as I like!' said Pétya to himself. He tried to conduct that enormous orchestra.
'Now softly, softly die away!' and the sounds obeyed him. 'Now fuller, more joyful. Still more and more joyful!' And from an unknown depth rose increasingly triumphant sounds. 'Now voices ojin in!' ordered Pétya. And at first from afar he heard men's voices and then women's. The voices grew in harmonious triumphant strength, and Pétya listened to their surpassing beauty in awe and joy.
With a solemn and triumphal march there mingled a song, the drip from the trees, and the hissing of the sabre, 'Ozheg-zheg-zheg...' and again the horses jostled one another and neighed, not disturbing the choir but joining in it.
Pétya did not know how long this lasted: he enjoyed himself all the time, wondered at his enjoyment and regretted that there was no one to share it. He was awakened by Likhachëv's kindly voice.
'It's ready , your Honour; you can split a Frenchman in half with it!'
Pétya woke up.
'It's getting light, it's really getting light!' he exclaimed.
The horses that had previously been invisible could now be seen to their very tails, and a watery light showed itself through the bare branches. Pétya shook himself, jumped up, took a ruble from his pocket and gave it to Likhachëv; then he flourished the sabre, tested it, and sheathed it. The Cossacks were untying their horses and tightening their saddle-girths.
'And here's the commander,' said Likhachëv.
Denísov came out of the watchman's hut and, having called Pétya, gave orders to get ready.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Happy Feast of St Thomas Becket
Today is the Feast of St Thomas of Canterbury, that great English Saint of the Middle Ages. It is also the only day that I am aware of when King David is commemorated liturgically.
The Martyrologium Romanum, according to the online version of the 1911 Breviary, began its entry for today thus:
This morning was not particularly pleasant. Mais que faut-il faire?
The Martyrologium Romanum, according to the online version of the 1911 Breviary, began its entry for today thus:
Cantuáriæ, in Anglia, natális sancti Thomæ, Epíscopi et Mártyris, qui, ob defensiónem justítiæ et ecclesiásticæ immunitátis, in Basílica sua, ab impiórum hóminum factióne percússus gládio, Martyr migrávit ad Christum.
Hierosólymis [At Jerusalem] sancti David, Regis et Prophétæ.
This morning was not particularly pleasant. Mais que faut-il faire?
Monday, 28 December 2009
From War and Peace, Book XII, Chapter II
On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostóv Princess Mary had found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrew giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvíntseva at Vorónezh. That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented her during her father's illness, since his death, and especially since her meeting with Rostóv, was smothered by arrangements for the journey, anxiety about her brother, settling in a new house, meeting new people, and attending to her nephew's eductaion. She was sad. Now, after a month passed in quiet surroundings, she felt more and more deeply the loss of her father, which was associated in her mind with the ruin of Russia. She was agitated and incessantly tortured by the thought of the dangers to which her brother, the only intimate person now remaining to her, was exposed. She was worried too about her nephew's education, for which she had always felt herself incompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt a peace - a peace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personal dreams and hopes that had been on the point of awaking within her and were related to her meeting with Rostóv.
The day after her party the governor's wife came to see Malvíntseva and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked that though under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of course, not to be thought of, all the same the young people might be brought together and could get to know one another. Malvíntseva expressed approval, and the governor's wife began to speak of Rostóv in Mary's presence, praising him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Mary's name was mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a painful rather than a joyful feeling - her mental tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts, self-reproach and hopes re-awoke.
During the two days that elapsed before Rostóv died, Princess Mary continually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First she decided not to come to the drawing-room when he called to see her aunt - that it would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, to receive visitors; then she thought this would be rude, after what he had done for her; then it occurred to her that her aunt and the governor's wife had intentions concerning herself and Rostóv - their looks and words at times seemed to confirm this supposition; then she told herself that only she, with her sinful nature, could think this of them: they could not forget that situated as she was, while still wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking would be an insult to her and to her father's memory. Assuming that she did go down to see him, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say to her and what she would say to him, and these words sometimes seemed undeservedly cold, and then to mean too much. More than anything she feared lest the confusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as soon as she saw him.
But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing-room that Count Rostóv had called, the princess showed no confusion, only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new and radiant light.
"You have met him, Aunt?" said she in a calm voice, unable herself to understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural.
When Rostóv entered the room the princess dropped her eyes for an instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look with shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace she half rose with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender delicate hand to him, and began to speak in a voice in which for the first time new deep womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in the drawing-room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise. Herself a consummate coquette, she could not have manoeuvred better on meeting a man she wished to attract.
"Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has greatly improved without my having noticed it. And above all, what tact and grace!" thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.
Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, she would have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognized that dear, loved face, a new life-force took possession of her and compelled her to speak and act apart from her own will. From the time Rostóv entered, her face became suddenly transformed. It was as if a light had been kindled in a carved and painted lantern and the intricate, skilful, artistic work on its sides, that previously seemed dark, coarse, and meaningless, was suddenly shown up in unexpected and striking beauty. For the first time all that pure, spiritual, inward travail through which she had lived appeared on the surface. All her inward labour, her dissatisfaction with herself, her sufferings, her strivings after goodness, her meekness, love, and self-sacrifice - all this now shone in those radiant eyes, in her delicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face.
Rostóv saw all this as clearly as if he had known her her whole life. He felt that the being before him was quite different from, and better than, any one he had met before, and above all, better than himself.
The day after her party the governor's wife came to see Malvíntseva and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked that though under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of course, not to be thought of, all the same the young people might be brought together and could get to know one another. Malvíntseva expressed approval, and the governor's wife began to speak of Rostóv in Mary's presence, praising him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Mary's name was mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a painful rather than a joyful feeling - her mental tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts, self-reproach and hopes re-awoke.
During the two days that elapsed before Rostóv died, Princess Mary continually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First she decided not to come to the drawing-room when he called to see her aunt - that it would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, to receive visitors; then she thought this would be rude, after what he had done for her; then it occurred to her that her aunt and the governor's wife had intentions concerning herself and Rostóv - their looks and words at times seemed to confirm this supposition; then she told herself that only she, with her sinful nature, could think this of them: they could not forget that situated as she was, while still wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking would be an insult to her and to her father's memory. Assuming that she did go down to see him, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say to her and what she would say to him, and these words sometimes seemed undeservedly cold, and then to mean too much. More than anything she feared lest the confusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as soon as she saw him.
But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing-room that Count Rostóv had called, the princess showed no confusion, only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new and radiant light.
"You have met him, Aunt?" said she in a calm voice, unable herself to understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural.
When Rostóv entered the room the princess dropped her eyes for an instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look with shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace she half rose with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender delicate hand to him, and began to speak in a voice in which for the first time new deep womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in the drawing-room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise. Herself a consummate coquette, she could not have manoeuvred better on meeting a man she wished to attract.
"Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has greatly improved without my having noticed it. And above all, what tact and grace!" thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.
Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, she would have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognized that dear, loved face, a new life-force took possession of her and compelled her to speak and act apart from her own will. From the time Rostóv entered, her face became suddenly transformed. It was as if a light had been kindled in a carved and painted lantern and the intricate, skilful, artistic work on its sides, that previously seemed dark, coarse, and meaningless, was suddenly shown up in unexpected and striking beauty. For the first time all that pure, spiritual, inward travail through which she had lived appeared on the surface. All her inward labour, her dissatisfaction with herself, her sufferings, her strivings after goodness, her meekness, love, and self-sacrifice - all this now shone in those radiant eyes, in her delicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face.
Rostóv saw all this as clearly as if he had known her her whole life. He felt that the being before him was quite different from, and better than, any one he had met before, and above all, better than himself.
Sunday, 27 December 2009
A Happy Feast of the Holy Family
I have begun to write an entry for today which shall now be published another day, since that entry is currently over four thousand words and far from complete, and I cannot finish it all tonight.
So I am going to translate some of St Alphonsus' Theologia Moralis. Here is the beginning of the section "On Sin":
TRACTATUS
DE PECCATIS
CAPUT I.
DE PECCATO IN GENERE
DUBIUM I.
1. Quid est peccatum?
RESP. 1. Est transgressio legis, ut sive (ut ait Tolet.) est voluntarius recessus a Regula Divina; per quam regulam intelligitur praeceptum tam naturale, et humanum, quam Divinum: per recessum intelligitur actus, vel ejus omissio, qui sit non tantum voluntarius, sed etiam liber, cum aliqua actuali advertentia malitiae, quod addo, quia, ut docet Sanch. 1. mor. c. 16. cum Vasq. Bon. d. 2. q. 1. p. 3. n. 3 et 12. etc. non sufficit ad actum peccaminosum libertas, et advertentia quaevis virtualis, vel interpretativa, qua scilicet quis advertere poterat, et debebat, nec quaecumque actualis, qua scilicet intellectus rationes commodi, et incommodi in objecto attendat: sed requiritur, ut advertat moralem malitiam objecti, aut saltem de ea dubium, vel scrupulum concipiat. Ratio est, tum quia sine ista advertentia non est voluntarium, cum non sit cognitum, quia quandiu talis cogitatio intellectui non occurrit, non est sufficiens, principium deliberandi de malitia, ideoque nec libertas, ac proinde de culpa; et censetur illa inadvertentia naturalis, et invincibilis oblivio. Addit tamen Tann. d. 4 de pecc. q. 5 d. 5. n. 106. non esse necesse, ut consideratio illa maneat actu, vel virtute maneat, ita ut cum ea vel actus peccati fuerit inchoatus, vel saltem causa data, ut fit in ebrio, qui peccat, non vi praesentis, sed praeteritae deliberationis. Vide Bald. l. 1. d. 37. Verum Recentiores communiter docent, talem, verb. gr. ebrium, non peccare formaliter, quando usu rationis caret; sed malitiam eorum, quae tunc fiunt, contraxisse ante, dum praevidens malum, quod commissurus erat, ejus causam dedit: aiuntque, dum quis actu peccat, semper esse, ac manere advertentiam aliquam malitiae tenuem, vel confusam, ut vide apud Scol., nam in ordine ad praxim, parum refert utrolibet modo loquaris.
My translation (since I have nothing better to do):
Sin is the transgression of a law, or a voluntary receding from the Divine Rule; by which Rule is understood not only a Divine precept, but also a natural and human one: by "a receding" is understood an act, or the omission of an act, which is not only voluntary, but also free, with some present advertence to the malice [of the act], which I add because it is not enough for an act to be sinful for there to be freedom and virtual or interpretative advertence, by which, that is to say, a man could was able to advert, and ought to have done so, but with no present [actualis] advertence, that is, by which the intellect pays attention to the object ... reasons convenient and inconvenient [I am lost by the grammar of this sentence] : but it is requisite that he advert to the moral malice of the object, or at least conceive a doubt or suspicion of a doubt concerning that malice. The reason is because without such advertence it is not voluntary, since it is not known, because as long as such a thought does not occur to the intellect, the beginning of deliberating about such malice is not sufficient, and therefore freedom is not present and so there is no fault [I feel sure this is mistranslated] ; and that inadvertence is reckoned as natural, and invincible forgetfulness. ... It is not necessary that that consideration should remain with [during?] the act, or ?power/virtue/???, such that with it after the action of the sin is begun, or at least after the cause is given, as occurs in a drunk man, who sins not with present, but past deliberation. ... Recent authors commonly teach that such a (for example) drunk person does not sin formally when he lacks the use of reason; but the malice of those things, when they occur then, has been contracted before, while foreseeing the evil which he was going to commit, he placed the cause of it; and they say, while he sins by an act, always to be, and some tenuous or confused advertence to the malice remains...for in practice, not enough refers you will speak either way.
Yes, my translation is gibberish. But it is 11 o'clock and time for me to say a rosary.
So I am going to translate some of St Alphonsus' Theologia Moralis. Here is the beginning of the section "On Sin":
TRACTATUS
DE PECCATIS
CAPUT I.
DE PECCATO IN GENERE
DUBIUM I.
1. Quid est peccatum?
RESP. 1. Est transgressio legis, ut sive (ut ait Tolet.) est voluntarius recessus a Regula Divina; per quam regulam intelligitur praeceptum tam naturale, et humanum, quam Divinum: per recessum intelligitur actus, vel ejus omissio, qui sit non tantum voluntarius, sed etiam liber, cum aliqua actuali advertentia malitiae, quod addo, quia, ut docet Sanch. 1. mor. c. 16. cum Vasq. Bon. d. 2. q. 1. p. 3. n. 3 et 12. etc. non sufficit ad actum peccaminosum libertas, et advertentia quaevis virtualis, vel interpretativa, qua scilicet quis advertere poterat, et debebat, nec quaecumque actualis, qua scilicet intellectus rationes commodi, et incommodi in objecto attendat: sed requiritur, ut advertat moralem malitiam objecti, aut saltem de ea dubium, vel scrupulum concipiat. Ratio est, tum quia sine ista advertentia non est voluntarium, cum non sit cognitum, quia quandiu talis cogitatio intellectui non occurrit, non est sufficiens, principium deliberandi de malitia, ideoque nec libertas, ac proinde de culpa; et censetur illa inadvertentia naturalis, et invincibilis oblivio. Addit tamen Tann. d. 4 de pecc. q. 5 d. 5. n. 106. non esse necesse, ut consideratio illa maneat actu, vel virtute maneat, ita ut cum ea vel actus peccati fuerit inchoatus, vel saltem causa data, ut fit in ebrio, qui peccat, non vi praesentis, sed praeteritae deliberationis. Vide Bald. l. 1. d. 37. Verum Recentiores communiter docent, talem, verb. gr. ebrium, non peccare formaliter, quando usu rationis caret; sed malitiam eorum, quae tunc fiunt, contraxisse ante, dum praevidens malum, quod commissurus erat, ejus causam dedit: aiuntque, dum quis actu peccat, semper esse, ac manere advertentiam aliquam malitiae tenuem, vel confusam, ut vide apud Scol., nam in ordine ad praxim, parum refert utrolibet modo loquaris.
My translation (since I have nothing better to do):
Sin is the transgression of a law, or a voluntary receding from the Divine Rule; by which Rule is understood not only a Divine precept, but also a natural and human one: by "a receding" is understood an act, or the omission of an act, which is not only voluntary, but also free, with some present advertence to the malice [of the act], which I add because it is not enough for an act to be sinful for there to be freedom and virtual or interpretative advertence, by which, that is to say, a man could was able to advert, and ought to have done so, but with no present [actualis] advertence, that is, by which the intellect pays attention to the object ... reasons convenient and inconvenient [I am lost by the grammar of this sentence] : but it is requisite that he advert to the moral malice of the object, or at least conceive a doubt or suspicion of a doubt concerning that malice. The reason is because without such advertence it is not voluntary, since it is not known, because as long as such a thought does not occur to the intellect, the beginning of deliberating about such malice is not sufficient, and therefore freedom is not present and so there is no fault [I feel sure this is mistranslated] ; and that inadvertence is reckoned as natural, and invincible forgetfulness. ... It is not necessary that that consideration should remain with [during?] the act, or ?power/virtue/???, such that with it after the action of the sin is begun, or at least after the cause is given, as occurs in a drunk man, who sins not with present, but past deliberation. ... Recent authors commonly teach that such a (for example) drunk person does not sin formally when he lacks the use of reason; but the malice of those things, when they occur then, has been contracted before, while foreseeing the evil which he was going to commit, he placed the cause of it; and they say, while he sins by an act, always to be, and some tenuous or confused advertence to the malice remains...for in practice, not enough refers you will speak either way.
Yes, my translation is gibberish. But it is 11 o'clock and time for me to say a rosary.
Saturday, 26 December 2009
I am shattered
I only got up at 9, but I didn't really sleep the previous night. I looked at the clock, said to myself "it must be 4 or 5", and found it was a quarter to seven. I lay in bed in a state of semi-somnolence* for most of the night, I think. I sent a nice message to sanabituranima and she replied with what I believe is the nicest message I have ever received. (I shall not quote it here, obviously.)
This afternoon I tried to type, skeletally, all the significant events that have happened in my life between the 7th of October, i.e. the beginning of the last term, and the present. My skeleton reached six and a half thousand words. If it had been fleshed out fully, I do not know how long it would have been. Well, if I had included every conversation, and every letter, and every text message, of significance, it would probably have been the length of a Tolstoy novel. (I am on page 976, by the way. I shall not read any more tonight; I am exhausted.)
Tomorrow is Sunday. Now I WILL go to Mass tomorrow. I shall go to the 11 o'clock Mass, come hell or high water. I don't like missing Mass.
* You thought you could only be in a state of grace or a state of sin, didn't you? Well, you obviously never heard of the state of semi-somnolence.
This afternoon I tried to type, skeletally, all the significant events that have happened in my life between the 7th of October, i.e. the beginning of the last term, and the present. My skeleton reached six and a half thousand words. If it had been fleshed out fully, I do not know how long it would have been. Well, if I had included every conversation, and every letter, and every text message, of significance, it would probably have been the length of a Tolstoy novel. (I am on page 976, by the way. I shall not read any more tonight; I am exhausted.)
Tomorrow is Sunday. Now I WILL go to Mass tomorrow. I shall go to the 11 o'clock Mass, come hell or high water. I don't like missing Mass.
* You thought you could only be in a state of grace or a state of sin, didn't you? Well, you obviously never heard of the state of semi-somnolence.
Friday, 25 December 2009
Merry Christmas
It has been a good day. I got lots of nice presents including books, socks, and whatnot. We have spent the day at Grandma's, and had a nice time. Somebody had a toy car in a cracker. I had a cracker with this joke in it:
What do you call a bad lion tamer?
Claude Bottom.
I thought that was the best of the cracker jokes. I had to explain it to someone sitting near by.
Some of us went for a walk in the afternoon.
Apologies for the brevity of this entry, but it is late in the day and there is not a great deal to record.
(And yes, I am lazy.)
Merry Christmas!
What do you call a bad lion tamer?
Claude Bottom.
I thought that was the best of the cracker jokes. I had to explain it to someone sitting near by.
Some of us went for a walk in the afternoon.
Apologies for the brevity of this entry, but it is late in the day and there is not a great deal to record.
(And yes, I am lazy.)
Merry Christmas!
Thursday, 24 December 2009
Christmas Eve
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
That is as much as I can remember of that.
Today has been comparatively ordinary. I wrote some labels for some Christmas presents; read up to the bottom of page 871 of War and Peace (I really want to finish that book, I nearly wrote interminable, but the point of reading a book is not to get to the final full stop as quickly as possible). We watched a film (Frost/Nixon), which was enjoyable. I haven't been to Mass this evening; my intention is to go in the morning at 10. Hopefully that will not be too problematic.
Mass is not said at midnight here but at 10.30 p.m. I believe the reason for this is that our dear priest (that is not meant ironically, by the way) wants to go to bed.
The 10AM Mass tomorrow is for the repose of the soul of the late father of someone who teaches English at my old school.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
That is as much as I can remember of that.
Today has been comparatively ordinary. I wrote some labels for some Christmas presents; read up to the bottom of page 871 of War and Peace (I really want to finish that book, I nearly wrote interminable, but the point of reading a book is not to get to the final full stop as quickly as possible). We watched a film (Frost/Nixon), which was enjoyable. I haven't been to Mass this evening; my intention is to go in the morning at 10. Hopefully that will not be too problematic.
Mass is not said at midnight here but at 10.30 p.m. I believe the reason for this is that our dear priest (that is not meant ironically, by the way) wants to go to bed.
The 10AM Mass tomorrow is for the repose of the soul of the late father of someone who teaches English at my old school.
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