There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently.
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