“We met all sorts of girls at camp. There were a dozen girls from an orphanage who had never been adopted. Among these I admired an older girl named Liz – a large-framed, bony girl with dry blond curls and red checkbones who wore a wool lumberjack shirt. Every Sunday night, gathered in our bare old rec hall of a chapel, we children could request a favorite hymn if we could recite a Bible verse. Year after year, big Liz returned unadopted to camp and Sunday after Sunday, requested, ‘No One Ever Cared for Me Like Jesus.’”
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Anne Dillard, An American Childhood (New York: Harper & Row, 1987), 133.