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He doubted that he would ever see it again; he knew he never wanted to; yet he looked at the red corners and towers with the eyes of a rider picturing landmarks never to be forgotten. Here he spent a panting moment in a slow-circling gaze of the sage-oval and the gaps between the bluffs. Nothing stirred except the gentle wave of the tips of the brush.
Certain aspects of the connexion of these young women show for us, such is the twilight that gathers about them, in the likeness of some dim scene in a Maeterlinck play; we have positively the image, in the delicate dusk, of the figures so associated and yet so opposed, so mutually watchful: that of the angular pale princess, ostrich-plumed, black-robed, hung about with amulets, reminders, relics, mainly seated, mainly still, and that of the upright restless slow-circling lady of her court who exchanges with her, across the black water streaked with evening gleams, fitful questions and answers.
When nine slow-circling months had roll'd away, Sweet-smiling pleasure hailed the brightening day A wondrous boy Tahmíneh's tears supprest, And lull'd the sorrows of her heart to rest; To him, predestined to be great and brave, The name Sohráb his tender mother gave; And as he grew, amazed, the gathering throng, View'd his large limbs, his sinews firm and strong; His infant years no soft endearment claimed: Athletic sports his eager soul inflamed; Broad at the chest and taper round the loins, Where to the rising hip the body joins; Hunter and wrestler; and so great his speed, He could overtake, and hold the swiftest steed.
Mitchy became again on this, in the sociable dusk, a slow-circling vaguely-agitated element, and his companion continued: "Is your idea very generously and handsomely to help that by letting me know ?" "That I do definitely renounce" Mitchy took him up "any pretension and any hope? Well, I'm ready with a proof of it. I've passed my word that I'll apply elsewhere."
She threw the fly to the opposite side of the pool, let it sink an inch or two, and then quietly jerked it across until it came in the way of the slow-circling salmon.
Slow-circling, it sang of mighty Fate: 'For every word shall have its echo, and every deed shall see its face. The word shall say, "Is it my echo?" and the deed shall say, "Is it my face?" "The chorus passes, singing. The voices die, there falls a silence, sent as it were from inner space. The open sky is above the amphitheater.
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