Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
“Let her full glory,
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions—but her story.”
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I
Of a Trifle Found in Twilight
THUS he walked in twilight, regretful that he must return to his own country, and live another life, and bear another name than that of Horvendile.... It was droll that in his own country folk should call him Felix, since Felix meant “happy”; and assuredly he was not pre-eminently happy there.
At least he had ended the love-business of Ettarre and Guiron happily, however droll the necessitated makeshifts might have been.... He had very certainly introduced the god in the car, against Horatian admonition, had wound up affairs with a sort of transformation scene.... It was, perhaps, at once too hackneyed and too odd an ending to be æsthetically satisfactory, after all.... Why, beyond doubt it was. He shrugged his impatience.
“Yet—what a true ending it would be!” he reflected. He was still walking in twilight—for the time was approaching sunset—in the gardens of Alcluid. He must devise another ending for this high-hearted story of Guiron and Ettarre.