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Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951

"A Prisoner in Fairyland"

Bells
from distant village churches boomed softly through the air, voices
from a world forgotten.
And the contrast brought back London. He thought of the long busy
chapter of his life just finished. The transition had been so abrupt.
As a rule periods fade into one another gradually in life, easily,
divisions blurred; it is difficult on looking back to say where the
change began. One is well into the new before the old is realised as
left behind. 'How did I come to this?' the mind asks itself. 'I don't
remember any definite decision. Where was the boundary crossed?' It
has been imperceptibly accomplished.
But here the change had been sudden and complete, no shading anywhere.
He had leaped a wall. Turmoil and confusion lay on that side; on this
lay peace, rest and beauty. Strain and ugliness were left behind, and
with them so much that now seemed false, unnecessary, vain. The
grandeur of toil, and the insignificance of acquisition--the phrase
ran through his mind with the sighing of the pine trees; it was like
the first line of a song. The Vicar knew the song complete. Even
Minks, perhaps, could pipe it too. Rogers was learning it. 'I must
help them somehow,' he thought again. 'It's not a question of money
merely. It's that they want welding together more--more harmony--more
sympathy.


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