| 880 | 881 | 882 | 883 | 884 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
Gwynplaine saw nothing of all this. What he was musing on was destiny.
He was in a dream--a vision--giddy in presence of an inexorable reality.
He fancied that he heard behind him something like an earthquake. It was
the laughter of the Lords.
From that laughter he had just emerged. He had come out of it, having
received a blow, and from whom?
From his own brother!
Flying from the laughter, carrying with him the blow, seeking refuge, a
wounded bird, in his nest, rushing from hate and seeking love, what had
he found?
Darkness.
No one.
Everything gone.
He compared that darkness to the dream he had indulged in.
What a crumbling away!
882
Page
Quick Jump
|