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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"


Yet was the heart of the War-leader troubled; for he wotted that it
might not last for ever, and there seemed no end to the throng of
murder-carles; and the time would come when the arrowshot would be
spent, and they must needs come to handy strokes, and that with so
many.
Now a voice spake to him as he gazed with knitted brows and careful
heart on that turmoil of battle:
'What now hast thou done with the Sun-beam, and where is her brother?
Is the Chief of the Wolf skulking when our work is so heavy? And
thou meseemeth art overlate on the field: the mowing of this meadow
is no sluggard's work.'
He turned and beheld Bow-may, and gazed on her face for a moment, and
saw her eyes how they glittered, and how the pommels of her cheeks
were burning red and her lips dry and grey; but before he answered he
looked all round about to see what was to note; and he touched Bow-
may on the shoulder and pointed to down below where a man of the
Felons had just come out of the court of one of the houses: a man
taller than most, very gaily arrayed, with gilded scales all over
him, so that, with his dark face and blue eyes, he looked like some
strange dragon.


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