A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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would see him and make signs to him, and that would satisfy him; " for," thought he, " is not this all that a loving soul can do to enter into commu­nion with another ? Nay, how many who love, never come nearer than to behold each other as in a mirror; seem to know and yet never know the inward life; never enter the other soul; and part at last, with but the vaguest notion of the universe on the borders of which they have been hovering for years ? If I could but speak to her, and knew that she heard me, I should be satisfied." Once he contemplated painting a picture on the wall, which should, of necessity, convey to the lady a thought of himself; but, though he had some skill with the pencil, he found his hand tremble so much when he began the attempt, that he was forced to give it up.
One evening, as he stood gazing on his treasure, he thought he saw a faint expression of self-conscious­ness on her countenance, as if she surmised that pas­sionate eyes were fixed upon her. This grew; till at last the red blood rose over her neck, and cheek, and brow. Cosmo's longing to approach her became almost delirious. This night she was dressed in an evening costume, resplendent with diamonds. This could
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