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Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951

"A Prisoner in Fairyland"

From here
she forced her own light through, mixing her beams of coloured
radiance with the thick grey lines themselves. She tried to feel and
think as her mother felt and thought, moving beside her mind's initial
working, changing the gloom into something brighter as she moved
along. This was the proper way, she felt-to clean the source itself,
rather than merely untie knots at the outer surface. It was a stifling
business, but she persisted. Tiny channels cleared and opened. A
little light shone through. She felt-with her mother, instead of
arguing, as it were...
The old lady presently blew the candle out and composed herself to
sleep. Mother laboured on....
'Oh dear,' she sighed, 'oh dear!' as she emerged from the gloom a
moment to survey her patient and note results. To her amazement she
saw that there was a change indeed, though a very curious one. The
entire outer surface of the cloud seemed in commotion, with here and
there a glimmering lustre as if a tiny lamp was at last alight within.
She felt herself swell with happiness. Instantly, then, the grey lines
shot out, fastening with wee loops and curves among her own. Some
links evidently had been established. She had imparted something.
'She's dreaming! I do believe I've sown some dream of beauty in her!'
she beamed to herself.


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