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Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951

"A Prisoner in Fairyland"

They were pulling him out.
It was very wonderful; a glory of youth and careless joy rushed
through him like a river. Some sheath or vesture melted off. It seemed
to tear him loose. How in the world could he ever have forgotten it--
let it go out of his life? What on earth could have seemed good enough
to take its place? He felt like an eagle some wizard spell had
imprisoned in a stone, now released and shaking out its crumpled
wings. A mightier spell had set him free. The children stood beside
his bed!
'I can manage it alone,' he said firmly. 'You needn't try to help me.'
No sound was audible, but they instantly desisted. This thought, that
took a dozen words to express ordinarily, shot from him into them the
instant it was born. A gentle pulsing, like the flicker of a flame,
ran over their shining little forms of radiance as they received it.
They shifted to one side silently to give him room. Thus had he seen a
searchlight pass like lightning from point to point across the sea.
Yet, at first, there was difficulty; here and there, in places, he
could not get quite loose and free.
'He sticks like Daddy,' he heard them think. 'In the head it seems,
too.'
There was no pain in the sensation, but a certain straining as of
unaccustomed muscles being stretched. He felt uncomfortable, then
embarrassed, then--exhilarated.


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