who could have dreamed that in this blind, palsied woman, hidden away, inactivated, over-protected all her life, there lay the germ of an astonishing artistic sensibility {unsuspected by her, as by others} that would germinate and blossom into a rare and beautiful reality, after remaining dormant, blighted, for sixty years? Postscript
( Oliver Sacks )
[ The Man Who Mistook His Wife ]
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