Madeleine L'engle - A Swiftly Tilting Planet

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A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Madeleine L'Engle

Third printing, 1979

Printed in the United States of America

Published simultaneously in Canada by

McGraw-Hill Ryerson Ltd., Toronto

Library of Congress Cataloging

in Publication Data

L'Engle, Madeleine.

A swiftly tilting planet.

summary: The youngest of the Murry children must

travel through time and space in a battle against an

evil dictator who would destroy the entire universe.

[i. Science fiction] I. Title.

[Fie]7^-9648ISBN 0-374-37362-0

ii for Hal Varsell

1 Contents

1 In this fateful hour3

2 All Heaven with its power29

3 The sun with its brightness48

4 The snow with its whiteness67

5 The fire with all the strength it hath87

6 The lightning with its rapid wrath107

7 The winds with their swiftness149

8 The sea with its deepness159

9 The rocks with their steepness187

10 The earth with its starkness210

11 All these I place227

12 Between myself and the powers of

darkness268

2 A Swiftly Tilting Planet

The big kitchen of the Murrys' house was bright and warm, curtains drawn

against

the dark outside, against the rain driving past the house from the northeast.

Meg Murry O'Keefe had made an arrangement of chrysanthemums for the dining

table, and the yellow, bronze, and pale-gold blossoms seemed to add light to

the

room. A delectable smell of roasting turkey came from the oven, and her

mother

stood by the stove, stirring the giblet gravy.

It was good to be home for Thanksgiving, she thought, to be with the reunited

family, catching up on what each one had been doing. The twins, Sandy and

Dennys, home

from law and medical schools, were eager to hear about Calvin, her husband,

and

the conference he was attending in London, where he was-perhaps at this very

minute-giving a paper on the immunological system of chordates.

"It's a tremendous honor for him, isn't it, Sis?" Sandy asked.

"Enormous."

"And how about you, Mrs. O'Keefe?" Dennys smiled at her. "Still seems strange

call you Mrs. O'Keefe."

"Strange to me, too." Meg looked over at the rocker by the fireplace, where

her

mother-in-law was sitting, staring into the flames; she was the one who was

Mrs.

O'Keefe to Meg. "I'm fine," she replied to Sandy. "Absolutely fine."

Dennys, already very much the doctor, had taken his stethoscope, of which he

was

enormously proud, and put it against Meg's burgeoning belly, beaming with

pleasure as he heard the strong heartbeat of the baby within. "You are fine,

indeed."

She returned the smile, then looked across the room to her youngest brother,

Charles Wallace, and to their father, who were deep in concentration, bent

over

the model they were building of a tesseract: the square squared, and squared

again: a construction of the dimension of time. It was a beautiful and

complicated creation of steel wires and ball bearings and Lucite, parts of it

revolving, parts swinging like pendulums.

Charles Wallace was small for his fifteen years; a stranger might have

guessed

him to be no more than twelve; but the expression in his light blue eyes as he

5 5

watched his father alter one small rod on the model was mature and highly

intelligent. He had been silent all day, she thought. He seldom talked much,

but

his silence on this Thanksgiving day, as the approaching storm moaned around

the

house and clapped the shingles on the roof, was different from his usual lack

chatter.

Meg's mother-in-law was also silent, but that was not surprising. What was

surprising was that she had agreed to come to them for Thanksgiving dinner.

Mrs.

O'Keefe must have been no more than a few years older than Mrs. Murry, but

she

looked like an old woman. She had lost most of her teeth, and her hair was

yellowish and unkempt, and looked as if it had been cut with a blunt knife.

Her

habitual expression was one of resentment. Life had not been kind to her, and

she was angry with the world, especially with the Murrys. They had not

expected

her to accept the invitation, particularly with Calvin in London. None of

Calvin's family responded to the Murrys' friendly overtures. Calvin was, as

had explained to Meg at their first meeting, a biological sport, totally

different from the rest of his family, and when he received his M.D./Ph.D.

they

took that as a sign that he had joined the ranks of the enemy. And Mrs.

O'Keefe

shared the attitude of many of the villagers that Mrs. Murry's two earned

Ph.D.s, and her experiments in the stone lab which adjoined the kitchen, did

not

constitute proper work. Because she had achieved considerable recognition,

her

puttering was tolerated, but it was not work, in the sense that keeping a

clean

house was work, or having a nine-to-five job in factory or office was work.

-How could that woman have produced my husband? Meg wondered for the

hundredth

time, and imaged Calvin's alert expression and open smile. -Mother says

there's

more to her than meets the eye, but I haven't seen it yet. All I know is that

she doesn't like me, or any of the family. I don't know why she came for

dinner.

I wish she hadn't.

The twins had automatically taken over their old job of setting the table.

Sandy

paused, a handful of forks in his hand, to grin at their mother.

"Thanksgiving

dinner is practically the only meal Mother cooks in the kitchen-"

"-instead of out in the lab on her Bunsen burner," Dennys concluded.

Sandy patted her shoulder affectionately. "Not that we're criticizing,

Mother."

. "After all, those Bunsen-burner stews did lead directly to the Nobel Prize.

We're really very proud of you, Mother, although you and Father give us a

heck

of a lot to live up to."

"Keeps our standards high." Sandy took a pile of plates from the kitchen

dresser, counted them, and set them in front of the big platter which would

hold

the turkey.

-Home, Meg thought comfortably, and regarded her parents and brothers with

affectionate gratitude. They had put up with her all through her prickly

adolescence, and she still did not feel very grown up. It seemed only a few

months ago that she had had braces on her teeth, crooked spectacles that

constantly slipped down her nose, unruly mouse-brown hair, and a wistful

certainty that she would never grow up to be a beautiful and self-confident

7 7

woman like her mother. Her inner vision of herself was still more the

adolescent

Meg than the attractive young woman she had become. The braces were gone, the

spectacles replaced by contact lenses, and though her chestnut hair might not

quite rival her mother's rich auburn, it was thick and lustrous and became

her

perfectly, pulled softly back from her face into a knot at the nape of her

slender neck. When she looked at herself objectively in the mirror she knew

that

she was lovely, but she was not yet accustomed to the fact. It was hard to

believe that her mother had once gone through the same transition.

She wondered if Charles Wallace would change physically as much as she had.

All

his outward development had been slow. Their parents thought he might make a

sudden spurt in growth.

She missed Charles Wallace more than she missed the twins or her parents. The

eldest and the youngest in the family, their rapport had always been deep,

and

Charles Wallace had an intuitive sense of Meg's needs which could not be

accounted for logically; if something in Meg's world was wrong, he knew, and

was

there to be with her, to help her if only by assuring her of his love and

trust.

She felt a deep sense of comfort in being with him for this Thanksgiving

weekend, in being home. Her parents' house was still home, because she and

Calvin spent many weekends there, and their apartment near Calvin's hospital

was

a small, furnished one, with a large sign saying no pets, and an aura that

indicated that children would not be welcomed, either. They hoped to be

able to look for a place of their own soon. Meanwhile, she was home for

Thanksgiving, and it was good to see the gathered family and to be surrounded

their love, which helped ease her loneliness at being separated from Calvin

for

the first time since their marriage.

"I miss Fortinbras," she said suddenly.

Her mother turned from the stove. "Yes. The house feels empty without a dog.

But

Fort died of honorable old age."

"Aren't you going to get another dog?"

"Eventually. The right one hasn't turned up yet."

"Couldn't you go look for a dog?"

Mr. Murry looked up from the tesseract. "Our dogs usually come to us. If one

doesn't, in good time, then we'll do something about it."

"Meg," her mother suggested, "how about making the hard sauce for the plum

pudding?"

"Oh-of course." She opened the refrigerator and got out half a pound of

butter.

The phone rang.

"I'll get it." Dropping the butter into a small mixing bowl en route, she

went

to the telephone. "Father, it's for you. I think it's the White House."

Mr. Murry went quickly to the phone. "Mr. President, hello!" He was smiling,

and

Meg watched as the smile was wiped from his face and replaced with an

expression

of-what? Nothingness, she thought.

The twins stopped talking. Mrs. Murry stood, her wooden spoon resting against

the lip of the saucepan. Mrs. O'Keefe continued to stare morosely into the

fire.

9 g

Charles Wallace appeared to be concentrating on the tesseract.

-Father is just listening, Meg thought. -The President is doing the talking.

She gave an involuntary shudder. One minute the room had been noisy with

eager

conversation, and suddenly they were all silent, their movements arrested.

She

listened, intently, while her father continued to hold the phone to his ear.

His

face looked grim, all the laughter lines deepening to sternness. Rain lashed

against the windows. -It ought to snow at this time of year, Meg thought.

-There's something wrong with the weather. There's something wrong.

Mr. Murry continued to listen silently, and his silence spread across the

room.

Sandy had been opening the oven door to baste the turkey and snitch a

spoonful

of stuffing, and he stood still, partly bent over, looking at his father.

Mrs.

Murry turned slightly from the stove and brushed one hand across her hair,

which

was beginning to be touched with silver at the temples. Meg had opened the

drawer for the beater, which she held tightly.

It was not unusual for Mr. Murry to receive a call from the President. Over

the

years he had been consulted by the White House on matters of physics and

space

travel; other conversations had been serious, many disturbing, but this, Meg

felt, was different, was causing the warm room to feel colder, look less

bright.

"Yes, Mr. President, I understand," Mr. Murry said at last. "Thank you for

calling." He put the receiver down slowly, as though it were heavy.

Dennys, his hands still full of silver for the table, asked, "What did he

say?"

Their father shook his head. He did not speak.

Sandy closed the oven door. "Father?"

Meg cried, "Father, we know something's happened. You have to tell us-please."

His voice was cold and distant. "War."

Meg put her hand protectively over her belly. "Do you mean nuclear war?"

The family seemed to draw together, and Mrs. Murry reached out a hand to

include

Calvin's mother. But Mrs. O'Keefe closed her eyes and excluded herself.

"Is it Mad Dog Branzillo?" asked Meg.

"Yes. The President feels that this time Branzillo is going to carry out his

threat, and then we'll have no choice but to use our antiballistic missiles."

"How would a country that small get a missile?" Sandy asked.

"Vespugia is no smaller than Israel, and Branzillo has powerful friends."

"He really can carry out this threat?"

Mr. Murry assented.

"Is there a red alert?" Sandy asked.

"Yes. The President says we have twenty-four hours in which to try to avert

tragedy, but I have never heard him sound so hopeless. And he does not give

easily."

The blood drained from Meg's face. "That means the end of everything, the end

the world." She looked toward Charles Wallace, but he appeared almost as

withdrawn as Mrs. O'Keefe. Charles Wallace, who was always

there for her, was not there now. And Calvin was an ocean away. With a

feeling

of terror she turned back to her father.

He did not deny her words.

The old woman by the fireplace opened her eyes and twisted her thin lips

scornfully. "What's all this? Why would the President of the United States

call

here? You playing some kind of joke on me?" The fear in her eyes belied her

words.

"It's no joke, Mrs. O'Keefe," Mrs. Murry explained. "For a number of years

the

White House has been in the habit of consulting my husband."

"I didn't know he"-Mrs. O'Keefe darted a dark glance at Mr. Murry-"was a

politician."

"He's not. He's a physicist. But the President needs scientific information

and

needs it from someone he can trust, someone who has no pet projects to fund

political positions to support. My husband has become especially close to the

new President." She stirred the gravy, then stretched her hands out to her

husband in supplication. "But why? Why? When we all know that no one can win

nuclear war."

Charles Wallace turned from the tesseract. "El Rabioso. That's his nickname.

Mad

Dog Branzillo."

"El Rabioso seems singularly appropriate for a man who overthrew the

democratic

government with a wild and bloody coup d'etat. He is mad, indeed, and there

no reason in him."

"One madman in Vespugia," Dennys said bitterly, "can push a button and it

will

destroy civilization, and every-

thing Mother and Father have worked for will go up in a mushroom cloud. Why

couldn't the President make him see reason?"

Sandy fed a fresh log onto the fire, as though taking hope from the warmth

and

light.

Dennys continued, "If Branzillo does this, sends missiles, it could destroy

the

entire human race-"

Sandy scowled ferociously. "-which might not be so bad-"

"-and even if a few people survive in sparsely inhabited mountains and

deserts,

there'd be so much fallout all over the planet that their children would be

mutants. Why couldn't the President make him see? Nobody wants war at that

price."

"It's not for lack of trying," Mr. Murry said, "but El Rabioso deserves his

nickname. If he has to fall, he'd just as soon take the human race with him."

"So they send missiles from Vespugia, and we return ours to them, and all for

what?" Sandy's voice cracked with anger.

"El Rabioso sees this as an act of punishment, of just retribution. The

Western

world has used up more than our share of the world's energy, the world's

resources, and we must be punished," Mr. Murry said. "We are responsible for

the

acutely serious oil and coal shortage, the defoliation of trees, the grave

damage to the atmosphere, and he is going to make us pay."

"We stand accused," Sandy said, "but if he makes us pay, Vespugia will pay

just

as high a price."

Mrs. O'Keefe stretched her wrinkled hands out to the

flames. "At Tara in this fateful hour . . ." she mumbled.

Meg looked at her mother-in-law questioningly, but the old woman turned away.

Meg said to the room at large, "I know it's selfish, but I wish Calvin

weren't

in London giving that paper. I wish I'd gone with him."

"I know, love," Mrs. Murry replied, "but Dr. Louise thought you should stay

here."

"I wish I could at least phone him . . ."

Charles Wallace moved out of his withdrawn silence to say, "It hasn't

happened

yet, nuclear war. No missiles have been sent. As long as it hasn't happened,

there's a chance that it may not happen."

A faint flicker of hope moved across Meg's face. -Would it be better, she

wondered, -if we were like the rest of the world and didn't know the horrible

possibility of our lives being snuffed out before another sun rises? How do

prepare?

". . . in this fateful hour," the old woman mumbled again, but turned her

head

away when the Murrys looked at her.

Charles Wallace spoke calmly to the whole family, but looked at Meg. "It's

Thanksgiving, and except for Calvin, we're all together, and Calvin's mother

with us, and that's important, and we all know where Calvin's heart is; it's

right here."

"England doesn't observe Thanksgiving," Sandy remarked.

"But we do." His father's voice was resolute. "Finish setting the table,

please.

Dennys, will you fill the glasses?"

14 14A Swiftly Tilting Planet

While Mr. Murry carved, and Mrs. Murry thickened the gravy, Meg finished

beating

the hard sauce, and the twins and Charles Wallace carried bowls of rice,

stuffing, vegetables, cranberry sauce, to the table. Mrs. O'Keefe did not

move

to help. She looked at her work-worn hands, then dropped them into her lap.

"At

Tara in this fateful hour . . ."

This time nobody heard her.

Sandy, trying to joke, said, "Remember the time Mother tried to make oatmeal

cookies over the Bunsen burner, in a frying pan?"

"They were edible," Dennys said.

"Almost anything is, to your appetite."

"Which, despite everything, is enormous."

"And it's time to go to the table," Mrs. Murry said.

When they were in their places she automatically held out her hands, and then

the family, with Mrs. O'Keefe between Mr. Murry and Meg, was linked around

the

table.

Charles Wallace suggested, "Let's sing Dona nobis pacem. It's what we're all

praying for."

"Sandy'd better start then," Meg said. "He's got the best voice. And then

Dennys

and Mother, and then Father and you and I."

They raised their voices in the old round, singing over and over, Give us

peace,

give us peace, give us peace.

Meg's voice trembled, but she managed to sing through to the end.

There was silence as the plates were served, silence instead of the usual

happy

noise of conversation.

15 15

"Strange," Mr. Murry said, "that the ultimate threat should come from a South

American dictator in an almost unknown little country. White meat for you,

Meg?"

"Dark, too, please. Isn't it ironic that all this should be happening on

Thanksgiving?"

Mrs. Murry said, "I remember my mother telling me about one spring, many

years

ago now, when relations between the United States and the Soviet Union were

tense that all the experts predicted nuclear war before the summer was over.

They weren't alarmists or pessimists; it was a considered, sober judgment.

And

Mother said that she walked along the lane wondering if the pussy willows

would

ever bud again. After that, she waited each spring for the pussy willows,

remembering, and never took their budding for granted again."

Her husband nodded. "There was a reprieve then. There may be again."

"But is it likely?" Sandy's brown eyes were sober.

"It wasn't likely then. The pussy willows, nevertheless, have budded for a

good

many springs." He passed cranberry sauce to Mrs. O'Keefe.

"In this fateful hour," she mumbled, and waved the sauce away.

He bent toward her. "What was that?"

"At Tara in this fateful hour," she said irritably. "Can't remember.

Important.

Don't you know it?"

"I'm afraid not. What is it?"

"Rune. Rune. Patrick's rune. Need it now."

Calvin's mother had always been taciturn. At home she had communicated

largely

in grunts. Her children, with

the exception of Calvin, had been slow to speak, because they seldom heard a

complete sentence until they went to school. "My grandmother from Ireland."

Mrs.

O'Keefe pointed at Charles Wallace and knocked over her glass.

Dennys fetched paper towels and mopped up the spilled liquid. "I suppose,

cosmically speaking, it doesn't make much difference whether or not our

second-rate little planet blows itself up."

"Dennys!" Meg cried, then turned to her mother. "Excuse me for using this as

example, but Den, remember when Mother isolated farandolae within a

mitochondrion?"

He interrupted, "Of course I remember. That's what she got the Nobel Prize

for."

Mrs. Murry held up her hand. "Let Meg speak."

"Okay then: farandolae are so minuscule and insignificant it doesn't seem

they

could possibly have any importance, and yet they live in a symbiotic

relationship with mitochondria-"

"Okay, gotcha. And mitochondria provide us with our energy, so if anything

affects our farandolae, that can affect our mitochondria-"

"And," Meg concluded, "if that happens, we could die from energy loss, as you

well know."

"Go on," Sandy said.

"So if we blow up our planet it would certainly have some small effect on our

solar system, and that could affect our galaxy, and that could . . ."

"The old chain-reaction theory?" Sandy asked.

"More than that. Interdependence. Not just one thing leading to another in a

straight line, but everything and everyone everywhere interreacting."

Dennys threw out the wet paper towels, put a clean napkin over the soiled

tablecloth, and refilled Mrs. O'Keefe's glass. Despite storm windows, the

drawn

curtains stirred and a draft moved across the room. Heavy drops of rain

spattered down the chimney, making the fire hiss. "I still think," he said,

"that you're overestimating the importance of this planet. We've made a mess

things. Maybe it's best we get blown up."

"Dennys, you're a doctor," Meg reprimanded.

"Not yet," Sandy said.

"But he's going to be! He's supposed to care about and guard life."

"Sorry, Sis," Dennys said swiftly.

"It's just his way of whistling in the dark." Sandy helped himself to rice

and

gravy, then raised his glass to his sister. "Might as well go out on a full

stomach."

"I mean it and I don't mean it," Dennys said. "I do think we've got our

priorities wrong, we human beings. We've forgotten what's worth saving and

what's not, or we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Mean, don't mean," Mrs. O'Keefe grunted. "Never understand what you people

are

going on about. Even you." And again she pointed at Charles Wallace, though

this

time she did not overturn her glass.

Sandy glanced across the table at his baby brother, who looked pale and

small.

"Charles, you've eaten hardly anything, and you're not talking."

Charles Wallace replied, looking not at Sandy but at his sister, "I'm

listening."

She pricked up her ears. "To what?"

He shook his head so slightly that only she saw; and stopped questioning.

"At Tara in this fateful hour I place all Heaven with its power!" Mrs.

O'Keefe

pointed at Charles and knocked over her glass again.

This time nobody moved to mop up.

"My grandma from Ireland. She taught me. Set great store on it. I place all

Heaven with its power . . ." Her words dribbled off.

Mrs. O'Keefe's children called her Mom. From everybody except Calvin it

sounded

like an insult. Meg found it difficult to call her mother-in-law anything,

but

now she pushed her chair away from the table and knelt by the old woman.

"Mom,"

she said gently, "what did your grandmother teach you?"

"Set great store on it to ward off the dark."

"But what?"

"... All Heaven with its power" Mrs. O'Keefe said in a singsong way,

"And the sun with its brightness, And the snow with its whiteness, And the

fire

with all the strength it hath-"

At that moment it seemed as though a bucketful of water had been dumped down

the

chimney onto the fire. The flames flickered wildly, and gusts of smoke blew

into

the room.

"The fire with all the strength it hath," Charles Wallace repeated firmly.

The applewood logs sizzled but the flames gathered strength and began to burn

brightly again.

Mrs. O'Keefe put a gnarled hand on Meg's shoulder and pressed down heavily as

though it helped her to remember.

"And the-the lightning with its rapid wrath, And the winds with their

swiftness

along their path-"

The wind gave a tremendous gust, and the house shook under the impact, but

stood

steady.

Mrs. O'Keefe pressed until Meg could barely stand the weight.

"And the sea with its deepness, And the rocks with their steepness, And the

earth with its starkness-"

Using Meg's shoulder as a lever, she pushed herself up and stood facing the

bright flames in the fireplace.

"All these I place By God's almighty help and grace Between myself and the

powers of darkness."

Her voice rose triumphantly. "That'll teach Mad Dog Bran-what's-his name."

The twins looked at each other as though embarrassed. Mr. Murry carved some

turkey. Mrs. Murry's face was serene and uncommunicative. Charles Wallace

looked

thoughtfully at Mrs. O'Keefe. Meg rose from her knees and returned to her

chair,

escaping the unbeliev-

ably heavy pressure of her mother-in-law's hand. She was sure that her

shoulder

was going to hold black and blue finger marks.

As Meg moved away, Mrs. O'Keefe seemed to crumple. She collapsed into her

chair.

"Set high store on that, my grandma did. Haven't thought of it in years.

Tried

not to think. So why'd it come to me tonight?" She gasped, as though

exhausted.

"It's something like Patrick's Breastplate," Sandy said. "We sang that in

glee

club in college. It was one of my favorites. Marvelous harmonies."

"Not a song," Mrs. O'Keefe contradicted. "A rune. Patrick's rune. To hold up

against danger. In this fateful hour I place all Heaven with its power-"

Without warning, the lights went out. A gust of wind dashed across the table,

blowing out the candles. The humming of the refrigerator ceased. There was no

purring from the furnace in the cellar. A cold dampness clutched the room,

filling their nostrils with a stench of decay. The flames in the fireplace

dwindled.

"Say it, Mom!" Charles Wallace called. "Say it all!"

Mrs. O'Keefe's voice was weak. "I forget-"

The lightning outside was so brilliant that light penetrated the closed

curtains. A tremendous crash of thunder followed immediately.

"I'll say it with you." Charles Wallace's voice was urgent. "But you'll have

help me. Come on. In this fateful hour I place all Heaven with its power . .

Lightning and thunder were almost simultaneous. Then they heard a gigantic

crackling noise.

"One of the trees has been struck," Mr. Murry said.

"All Heaven with its power," Charles Wallace repeated.

The old woman's voice took up the words. "And the sun with its brightness . .

Dennys struck a match and lit the candles. At first the flames flickered and

guttered wildly, but then steadied and burned straight and bright.

"And the snow with its whiteness, And the fire with all the strength it hath

And

the lightning with its rapid wrath . . ."

Meg waited for the lightning to flash again, for the house itself to be

struck.

Instead, the power came back on as abruptly as it had gone off. The furnace

began to hum. The room was filled with light and warmth.

". . . And the sea with its deepness, And the rocks with their steepness, And

the earth with its starkness, All these I place

By God's almighty help and grace Between myself and the powers of darkness."

Charles Wallace lifted the curtains away from one corner of the window. "The

rain's turned to snow. The ground's all white and beautiful."

"All right-" Sandy looked around the room. "What's this all about? I know

something's happened, but what?"

For a moment no one spoke. Then Meg said, "Maybe there's hope."

22 22A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Sandy waved her words away. "Really, Meg, be reasonable."

"Why? We don't live in a reasonable world. Nuclear war is not reasonable.

Reason

hasn't got us anywhere."

"But you can't throw it out. Branzillo is mad and there's no reason in him."

Dennys said, "Okay, Sandy, I agree with you. But what happened?"

Meg glanced at Charles Wallace, but he had his withdrawn, listening look.

Sandy replied, "Much as we'd like it to, a freak of weather here in the

Northeastern United States isn't going to have anything to do with whether or

not a South American madman pushes that button to start the war that very

likely

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ASwiftlyTiltingPlanetMadeleineL'EngleiCopyright©1978byCrosswicks,Ltd.AllrightsreservedThirdprinting,1979PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmericaPublishedsimultaneouslyinCanadabyMcGraw-HillRyersonLtd.,TorontoDesignedbySuzanneHaldaneLibraryofCongressCataloginginPublicationDataL'Engle,Madeleine.Aswiftlytiltin...

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Madeleine L'engle - A Swiftly Tilting Planet

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