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Updated: May 23, 2025
Hitherto' Minks prided himself upon the knowledge 'he has written studies of uncommon temperaments. Therefore to indulge in fantasy now is wrong. 'Ah, you take it that way, do you? 'Experience justifies me, Mr. Rogers, the secretary continued. 'A friend of mine, or rather of Mrs. Minks's, once wrote a volume of ghost stories that, of course, were meant to thrill.
He looked steadily before him at the passing train, his small, black figure more than usually dwarfed by a stately outline that rose above the landscape by his side, and was undoubtedly the Woman of the Haystack. Telling lines from the story's rhymes flashed through Minks's memory as, chuckling with pleasure, he watched the magnificent, ample gestures of Mother's waving arms.
It darted across to him from the opposite end of the horse- shoe. Behind it flickered the tiniest smile a human countenance could possibly produce. 'Little mouse who, lost in wonder, Flicks its whiskers at the thunder. It was Jane Anne repeating the rhyme for Minks's benefit. How appropriately it came in, he thought.
Be ready. 'Ah, oui, said Minks, who had been studying phrase books, 'je vwa. But in reality he saw with difficulty, for a spark had got into his eye, and its companion optic, wandering as usual, was suffused with water too. The news of their arrival had, of course, preceded them, and the row of waving figures in the field gave them a welcome that went straight to Minks's heart.
'You mean that we travel when we sleep, he ventured, remembering a phrase that Minks had somewhere used, 'and that our real life is out of the body? His cousin was taking his thought -or was it originally Minks's? wholesale. Mother looked up gratefully. 'I often dream I'm flying, she put in solemnly. 'Lately, in particular, I've dreamed of stars and funny things like that a lot.
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