The Blossom and the Fruit: A True Story of a Black Magician

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J.W. Lovell Company, 1889 - English fiction - 290 pages
 

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Page 276 - ... could not imagine that any comfort could come to her from it Poor Fleta! she tasted now the complete bitterness of failure and the despair it brings. And comfort was what she wanted! Yes, her whole being was hungry for it But there was none for her. She found herself back, far back, ranged beside the stoic philosopher. What an arid, intolerable waste was life thus viewed! The moments were so weary and so full of pain that it appeared as if each were an eternity in itself. She rose at last goaded...
Page 135 - She rose now and began to pace up and down in front of him. She began to speak more slowly, her eyes fixed upon the ground. " Sweetheart, wife, mother, these things I can never be again, for the love of any man. I am alone in the world ; I can lean on no man, I can love no man in that way any more throughout the ages that I may wander on this earth. That life has gone away from me once and for all. I stand above it. Are you still ready to devote yourself to me, to stand at my side, to be my companion...
Page 251 - ... own for Ivan. He stopped often to look at these flowers, but he did not pluck them. He never picked a flower or a leaf, except for use in some definite experiment At one end of the walk the common rose called the monthly rose was trained upon the wall, and on this there was one delicate pink bud, half blown. This flower appeared at last to attract Ivan's attention entirely. He sat down on a bench near it and looked at it for a long while. It was late in the afternoon, but though the air was growing...
Page 192 - I have found it!" She looked down, as she spoke, on to a confused mass of human bodies which lay at her feet In the heap, easily distinguishable at a glance, was the young king's figure; it looked heroic and superb as it lay there, the arms spread wide, the face upturned to the sky, and on the face was an expression which had never been on it during life, one of profound peace, of complete contentment Fleta dropped on her knees and looked at the face for a long moment, but still, only a moment Then...
Page 131 - ... that man her husband—within whom burned all that fiery passion is, who suffered the fulness of longing and hunger insatiable. At last—for the dawn was creeping in at the window as he did so— Otto turned and left the room, and went softly down the stairway and along more corridors and down more stairs, till he reached a little doorway which he opened with his own key. It was a side entrance from the great garden and the park beyond. In the breathing of the soft, keen, morning air, in the...
Page 143 - ... emptyheaded and self-seeking than those she had left behind. Nor could she ever hope to begin her larger work, to create any school of philosophy here. Was every door shut to her ? It seemed so. And with that conviction came the strengthened and more profound resolve to conquer. CHAPTER XVII. EVERYTHING was closed, the world was dark to her ; there was no turning, either to the right or to the left We have all experienced this ; even to young children this bitterness comes, when the darkness...
Page 265 - As she recognised this, and acknowledged the uselessness of her effort, the soft touch came on her hair again, and the gentle voice fell on her ears : " My child, be warned. Long not too ardently for success, or you will overbalance yourself on the high place you have reached, and find yourself in the bottomless abyss, a magician and no more, one of the evil ones of the earth. There is yet a third way open to you. Will you serve Ivan like a slave, obeying him as you would obey someone to whom you...
Page 200 - A figure stood there—tall, wrapped in a long travelling cloak, and with a wide hat on which almost concealed the face. But Amyot recognised the outline of the form, and immediately made a profound obeisance. " I have already mixed the potion once and then threw it away, thinking it too great a task for me to take upon me, to deal with her for life or death. Yet now I have thought that she is certainly determined to live, and I was about to mix it again and give it her. Shall I do so, Ivan ? " "...
Page 251 - ... hair loose and undressed, but its richness undimmed. Ivan wandered up and down the path for a long time, full of thought, very grave, yet sometimes smiling faintly. It was the early spring, and small yellow flowers were peering out here and there, some on the ground, some on the walls. This colour, which is so associated with the birth of the year, had a meaning of its own for Ivan. He stopped often to look at these flowers, but he did not pluck them. He never picked a flower or a leaf, except...

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