A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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After they grow up, the men and women are but little together. There is this peculiar diffe­rence between them, which likewise distinguishes the women from those of the earth. The men alone have arms; the women have only wings. Resplen­dent wings are they, wherein they can shroud them­selves from head to foot in a panoply of glistering glory* By these wings alone, it may frequently 15e judged in what seasons, and under what aspects they were born. From those that came in winter, go great white wings, white as snow; the edge of every feather shining like the sheen of silver, so that they flash and glitter like frost in the sun. But under­neath, they are tinged with a faint pink or rose-colour. Those born in spring have wings of a bril­liant green, green as grass; and towards the edges the feathers are enamelled like the surface of the grass-blades. These again are white within. Those that are born in summer have wings of a deep rose-colour, lined with pale gold. And those born in autumn have purple wings, with a rich brown on the inside. But these colours are modi­fied and altered in all varieties, corresponding to the mood of the day and hour, as well as the season of the year; and sometimes I found the various colours so intermingled, that I could not determine
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