[Phantastes by George MacDonald]@TWC D-Link book
Phantastes

CHAPTER XIX
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I reached the place where it lay, glimmering white.

The bed was a tomb.

The light was too ghostly to see clearly, but I passed my hand over the face and the hands and the feet, which were all bare.

They were cold--they were marble, but I knew them.

It grew dark.


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