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It seems the most unreal thing in the world, when one is on the other side of it; and yet face to face with it, it has a strength, a poignancy, a paralysing power, which makes it seem like a personal and specific ill-will, issuing in a sort of dreadful enchantment or spell, which renders it impossible to withstand.
It seemed quite unreal to Mary as she was finally prevailed upon to bring in the tea wagon with the bread and jam trimmings to accompany the steaming little kettle.
Then the wild impulse of defiance passed, and the awful sense of bereavement came back like the falling of darkness over a sinking flame. Cecil was gone from her, gone for all time. The world seemed unreal, empty. She sunk among the furs like one stricken down.
How far away and unreal the land from which he had come!
His two front teeth were missing at the time so as he literally spit out the opinion in a lisped and retarded noise the teacher was stunned to hear profanity of the worse kind not only coming from a boy that was her pupil but in the tone of Daffy Duck. Words, wisps of vibrating air, which should have been as fleetingly unreal as any passing wind, were such indelible things.
Are, to us, the things unseen the solid things, and the things visible the shadows and the phantoms? The Apocalyptic seer, in his rocky Patmos, was told that he was to be shown 'the things which are'; and what was it that he saw? A set of what people call unreal and symbolic visions.
It was hard to realize that the sun was still shining behind the cloud, for this was a darkness that might be felt. There seemed a pall over the earth and sky. Oh, how unsatisfactory seemed all on earth! how dark and strange! how mysterious and unreal! We could not weep, we were stunned, and it seemed at the time that we could never come back to earth without her.
And as for honest old Hubert de Burgh . . . well, perhaps I have a purpose in being here. You have said this place is genuine; yet I sometimes wonder if any place in all the world is so unreal as the palace of a king."
Seen from the house, the barn and the low buildings beyond loomed shadowy and unreal, yet very beautiful. On the side porch of the house sat Simeon Holly and his wife, content to rest mind and body only because a full day's work lay well done behind them. It was just as Simeon rose to his feet to go indoors that a long note from a violin reached their ears. "Simeon!" cried the woman.
It is strange that she does not see that the humanism which, since it is at home in the world, can sometimes make there a classic hero, degenerates dreadfully and becomes unreal in a church where unskilled hands use it to make it a substitute for a Christian saint!
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