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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"

How weak is sleep!... It was a habit, sir, contracted in
childhood, long dormant, that Evil had woke again. The Past awaits us
all. So run Time's sands, till mercy's globe is empty and ..."
He stooped and whispered it across to me: "... A child, a comparative
child, shrunk to an anatomy, her beauty changed, ghostly of youth and
all its sadness, baffled by a word, slave to a doctor's nod! None
knew but I, and, at the last, one of her ladies--a gentle, faithful,
and fearful creature. Nor she till far beyond all mischief....
"Wild deeds are done. But to have blood on the hands, a cry in the
ears, and one same glassy face eye to eye, that nothing can dim, nor
even slumber pacify--dreams, dreams, intangible, enorm! Forefend them,
God, from me!"
He stood a moment as if he were listening; then turned, smiling
irresolutely, and eyed me aimlessly. He seemed afraid of his own
house, askance at his own furniture. Yet, though I scarce know why, I
felt he had not told me the whole truth. Something fidelity had yet
withheld from vanity. I longed to enquire further. I put aside how
many burning questions awhile!


XIV
_And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.


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