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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Water of the Wondrous Isles"

She was
worn by the rough road, and over helpless she felt her, and all too
little to deal with that huge morsel of the world; and her valiancy
gave way, and her trust in her errand. She sat down on a stone and
wept abundantly.
After a while she was amended, and she looked up and saw the huge
hold, and said: Yea, but if it were less by the half than it is, it
would still be big enough to cow me. Yet she stood not up. Then she
put forth a foot of her, and said aloud: Sorely hath this rough road
tried Atra's shoon and their goodly window-work; if they are to be
known I must be speedy on my journey or go barefoot.
As she spoke she stood up, and the sound of her own voice frighted
her, though nought noiseless was the place; for the wind was there,
and beat to and fro the castle and the rock, and ran baffled into
every corner of that market-place of nothing. For in that garth was
neither knight nor squire nor sergeant; no spear-head glittered from
the wall, no gleam of helm showed from the war-swales; no porter was
at the gate; the drawbridge over the deep ghyll was down, the
portcullis was up, and the great door cast wide open.


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