![]() ![]() ![]() I imagine behind this vestibule, in the sacred shadow, one may say, of the araucaria, a home full of shining mahogany, and a life full of sound respectability – early rising, attention to duty, restrained but cheerful family gatherings, Sunday churchgoing, early to bed.” I take my seat on a step of the stairs above the araucaria and, resting awhile with folded hands, I contemplate this little garden of order and let the touching air it has and its somewhat ridiculous loneliness move me to the depths of my soul. Sometimes, when I know that I am unobserved, I use this place as a temple. ![]() In the other a stately araucaria, a thriving, straight-grown baby tree, a perfect specimen, which to the last needle of the topmost twig reflects the pride of frequent ablutions. On the parquet floor, where it seems desecration to tread, are two elegant stands and on each a large pot. I must tell you that on the first floor of this house the stairs pass by a little vestibule at the entrance to a flat which, I am convinced, is even more spotlessly swept and garnished than the others for this little vestibule shines with a superhuman housewifery. ![]()
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