Cobbler's shops are so fascinating. All the repaired shoes and tools arranged so neatly, one next to the other, like school children at drill. The quaint neatness. The smell of the polish. The hope of the torn edges brought together again, the healed leather ready for yet another attempt at life. The sheer soothingness of that.
When God came to Tolstoy's cobbler, did he stop to breathe in the smell of re-born leather first?
When God came to Tolstoy's cobbler, did he stop to breathe in the smell of re-born leather first?
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