To me, this little book-room is beautiful, and chiefly because it is home.
Through the greater part of life I was homeless.
Many places have I lived, some which my soul disliked, and some which pleased me well;
but never till now with that sense of security which makes a home.
At any moment I might have been driven forth by evil accident, by disturbing necessity.
For all that time did I say within myself:
Some day, perchance, I shall have a home;
yet the perchance had more and more of emphasis as life went on,
and at the moment when fate was secretly smiling on me, I had all but abandoned hope.
I have my home at last.
This house is mine on a lease of a score of years.
So long I certainly shall not live;
but, if I did, even so long should I have the money to pay my rent and buy my food.
I am no cosmopolite.
Were I to think that I should die away from England, the thought would be dreadful to me.
And in England, this is the place of my choice; this is my home.
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