Little Women, Part 2

I found my copy of Little Women, repaired by Sister at some point in her childhood.

The pages are brittle and almost orange with age.  The print is very small.

But the illustrations are as powerful as ever.   I was struck, once again, by one of the reasons I loved Jo March.  It wasn't only her attic hideaway or her independence or her literary aspirations.  It was something more tangible.

See for yourself.  Here's Jo March:

And here am I, sometime in elementary school.

Obviously, it was meant to be.