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Unformatted text preview: hey are helpless, and stupid and eternal," he muttered. "But who, Father?" "The little people. They will not get what they want. Come, we can't sleep here any longer, and we aren't far from home." We rode cautiously through the darkness, and then through a for- lorn winter day that scarcely gave us any light. At last we entered the narrow rocky path of the secret pass to the Glen of Donnelaith. My father told me the story. There were two other known en- trances to our precious valley-the main road over which the wagons traveled incessantly, bringing produce to market, and the loch where the ships docked which took the goods to sea. By both routes came the incessant parade of pilgrims to lay gold at the altar of St. Ashlar, to seek his healing miracles, to lay hands upon the sarcophagus of the saint. This story struck terror. What would these people want of me! And I was hungry already for milk, and for cream, and for things that were thick, and white, and pure. The...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10