What shall I tell you all about that special day when first I met the eminent and amazing, Stanislaus Edward Petros Przywara - the same one referred to in a prior chapter as... the "frail diminutive gent"...lost in thought - but such a person as one must bump into now and then to restore faith and belief in our myriad little human correspondences. Was it that innocuous comment that he made at the outset - a fortuitous greeting in retrospect - "the coffee is good here - at least..." that I took as a positive omen - that established the rapport between us... ? I had taken him for a crazy person carrying on some wild conversation with himself and replying to voices in his head that seemed all to real - but once the ice was broken - we found ourselves - catching up to speed on our respective "life stories" such as we were able to piece them together.
On a well-traveled corridor of the East coast - where tourists drive northward every summer on a sleepy (and sometimes dated) old thoroughfare that meanders (roughly speaking) with the shoreline - there lies a coastal village renowned for its posh homes and proud inhabitants - and at the center of this village which boasts of a main street, a historic library and a stately boat landing, a garden shop can be found nestled among costly domiciles - just a stone's throw from the private academy and the gourmet ice cream shop. Set upon five acres of serene commercial flatland - the property houses multiple plants and trees and flowers - providing an oasis of greenery for anyone conjuring up daydreams of bucolic bliss. Set apart from the store - a no-frills wooden edifice - were greenhouses, rows of plants and flowers, larger trees in back and an old modest mansion of a house - still occupied by the family, Estabrook, which had owned the place going back three (3) generations. Th...
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