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Phillpotts, Eden, 1862-1960

"Lying Prophets"

An' I'll come back, tu, if I may hope for awnly the lowest plaace.
I'll come back an' walk along to church wance agin wi' you, wance 'fore I
goes back to sea. Will 'e let me do that, Mary Chirgwin?"
"I thank God to hear you say so. You'm welcome to come along wi' me next
Sunday if you mind to."
"An' now us'll go up the Carn an' look out 'pon the land and see the sun
sink."
They left the churchyard together, climbed the neighboring eminence and
stood silently at the top, their faces to the West.
A great pervasive calm and stillness in the air heralded frost. The sky had
grown strangely clear, and only the rack and ruin of the recent imposing
display now huddled into the arms of night on the eastern horizon. The sun,
quickly dropping, loomed mighty and fiery red. Presently it touched the
horizon, and its progress, unappreciated in the sky, became accentuated by
the rim of the world. A semi-circle of fire, a narrowing segment, a splash,
throbbing like a flame--then it had vanished, and light waned until there
trembled out the radiance of a brief after-glow. Already the voices of the
frost began to break the earth's silence. In the darkness of woods it was
busy casing the damp mosses in ice, binding the dripping outlets of hidden
water, whispering with infinitely delicate sound as it flung forth its
needles, the mother of ice, and suffered them to spread like tiny sudden
fingers on the face of freezing water.


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