Thinking, as he always did, about precision of language, Jonas realized that it was a new depth of feelings that he was experiencing.
Somehow they were not at all the same as the feelings that every evening, in every dwelling, every citizen analyzed with endless talk.
“I felt angry because someone broke the play area rules,” Lily had said once, making a fist with her small hand to indicate her fury.
Her family—Jonas among them—had talked about the possible reasons for rule-breaking,
and the need for understanding and patience, until Lily’s fist had relaxed and her anger was gone.
But Lily had not felt anger, Jonas realized now. Shallow impatience and exasperation, that was all Lily had felt.
He knew that with certainty because now he knew what anger was.
Now he had, in the memories, experienced injustice and cruelty, and he had reacted with rage
that welled up so passionately inside him that the thought of discussing it calmly at the evening meal was unthinkable.
“I felt sad today,” he had heard his mother say, and they had comforted her. But now Jonas had experienced real sadness.
He had felt grief. He knew that there was no quick comfort for emotions like those.
These were deeper and they did not need to be told. They were felt. Today, he felt happiness.
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