A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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A FAERIE R0MANCE.                        47
" You are a woman,' I returned.
" Do you think so? Am I very like a woman then?"
" You are a very beautiful woman. Is it possible you should not know it ? "
" I am very glad you think so. I fancy I feel like a woman sometimes. I do so to-night—and always when the rain drips from my hair. For there is an old prophecy in our woods that one day we shall all be men and women like you. Do you know anything about it in your region ? Shall I be very happy when I am a woman? I fear not; for it is always in nights like these that I feel like one. But I Ions; to be a woman for all that."
I had let her talk on, for her voice was like a solution of all musical sounds. I now told her that I could hardly say whether women were happy or not. I knew one who had not been happy; and for my part, I had often longed for Fairyland, as she now longed for the world of men. But then neither of us had lived long, and perhaps people grew happier as they grew older. Only I doubted it. I could not help sighing. She felt the sigh, for her arms were still round me. She asked me how old I was.
" Twenty-one," said I.
" Why, you baby !" said she; and kissed me with
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