Sand, this "large imposing house" stil) resonates with the aura of its brilliant mistress. In Story of My Life, the writer leaves a moving testimony to her unwavering devotion: "But I did have the home of my memories to shelter the future memories of my children.
Are we really justified in holding on so tightly to these dwellings filled with gentle and cruel images, the history of our own ives written on all the walls in mysterious, indelible characters, which at each shock to the soul, fill us with deep emotion, or childish superstition?"