Finished this one last night: It's Book Four of the Crosswicks Journal. (I read Book 2 on the plane to Winnipeg, remember? Way to read books in order, Jane) Book Two was about the summer her mother was dying. This one, written during the summer of '86 - is about her husband dying. It's almost enough to put you off summers. Or reading.
L'Engle is a gentle, elegant writer with much depth. These books are not fluff. And are probably best appreciated by perimenopausal readers.
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