I do not work, as the people think who observe me, for 8 or 10 hours a day with even temper and peace. I live in sighs and tears and cries and need. And each day a new sadness raises itself and the horrors have not end. And in between there are small pauses in the storm...during which I draw a deep breath and my hands tremble from the last fright and tremble again in anticipation of the next pain. And then in the few hours left, I take my tools in my hands and hammer and file and can hardly see. Thus do I work.