ABSTRACT
We have grown together like Han Suyin’s crippled tree, branches stooped and sometimes shattered, bowed heads hanging low over Academe River, bruised, misjudged, trammeled, but not broken. Who could have foreseen, from the conversations we all agreed to continue, the twists of twigs as we three, from different times and spaces, grew together with one another, and with the contributors to this volume?
