A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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72                               PHANTASTES:
too plenteously, a cold shiver ran through me; hut " it is the marble," I said to myself, and heeded it not.
She withdrew her hand from mine, and after that would scarce allow me to touch her. It seemed strange, after the fulness of her first greeting, that she could not trust me to come close to her. Though her words were those of a lover, she kept herself withdrawn as if a mile of space interposed between us.
" Why did you run away from me when you woke in the cave ? " I said.
" Did I ?" she returned. " That was very unkind of me; but I did not know better."
" I wish I could see you. The night is very dark."
" So it is. Come to my grotto. There is light there."
" Have you another cave, then ? "
" Come and see."
But she did not move until I rose first, and then she was on her feet before I could offer my hand to help her. She came close to my side, and conducted me through the wood. But once or twice, when, in­voluntarily almost, I was about to put my arm around her as we walked on through the warm gloom, she
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