A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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44                                PHANTASTES:
up with an infinite greed. A gnawing voracity, which devoured the devourer, seemed to be the in­dwelling and propelling power of the whole ghastly apparition. I lay for a few moments simply im-bruted with terror; when another cloud, obscuring the moon, delivered me from the immediately paralys­ing effects of the presence to the vision of the object of horror, while it added the force of imagination to the power of fear within me ; inasmuch as, know­ing far worse cause for apprehension than before, I remained equally ignorant from what I had to defend myself, or how to take any precautions: he might be upon me in the darkness any moment. I sprang to my feet, and sped I knew not whither, only away from the spectre. I thought no longer of the path, and often narrowly escaped dashing my­self against a tree, in my headlong flight of fear.
Great drops of rain began to patter on the leaves. Thunder began to mutter, then growl in the distance. I ran on. The rain fell heavier. At length the thick leaves could hold it up no longer; and, like a second firmament, they poured their torrents on the earth. I was soon drenched, but that was nothing. I came to a small swollen stream that rushed through the woods. I had a vague hope that if I crossed this
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