[St. George and St. Michael by George MacDonald]@TWC D-Link book
St. George and St. Michael

CHAPTER IX
5/13

Even in that moment, the vague fear that she would not come again grew to a plain conviction, and forcibly repressing the misery that rose in bodily presence from his heart to his throat, he left the house, hurried down the pleached alley to the old sun-dial, threw himself on the grass under the yews, and wept and longed for war.
But war was not to be just yet.

Autumn withered and sank into winter.
The rain came down on the stubble, and the red cattle waded through red mire to and from their pasture; the skies grew pale above, and the earth grew bare beneath; the winds grew sharp and seemed unfriendly; the brooks ran foaming to the rivers, and the rivers ran roaring to the ocean.

Then the earth dried a little, and the frost came, and swelled and hardened it; the snow fell and lay, vanished and came again.

But even out of the depth of winter, quivered airs and hints of spring, until at last the mighty weakling was born.

And all this time rumour beat the alarum of war, and men were growing harder and more determined on both sides--some from self-opinion, some from party spirit, some from prejudice, antipathy, animosity, some from sense of duty, mingled more and less with the alloys of impulse and advantage.


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