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De la Mare, Walter, 1873-1956

"Henry Brocken His Travels and Adventures in the Rich, Strange, Scarce-Imaginable Regions of Romance"


Meanwhile, however, he had disappeared--down a thick green alley to
the left, I supposed. So I went forward by a clearer path, and when I
had advanced a few paces, met face to face a lady whose dark eyes
seemed strangely familiar to me.
She was evidently a little disquieted at meeting a stranger so
unceremoniously, but stood her ground like a small, black, fearless
note of interrogation.
I explained at once, therefore, as best I could, how I came to be
there: described my journey, my bewilderment, and how that I knew not
into what country nor company fate had beguiled me, except that the
one was beautiful, and the other in some delightful way familiar, and
I begged her to tell me where I really was, and how far from home,
and of whom I was now beseeching forgiveness.
Her thoughts followed my every word, passing upon her face like
shadows on the sea. I have never seen a listener so completely still
and so completely engrossed in listening. And when I had finished, she
looked aside with a transient, half-sly smile, and glanced at me again
covertly, so that I could not see herself for seeing her eyes; and she
laughed lightly.


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