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The Wild Wood

           Hedidnotwantthewarmcloverandtheplayofseedinggrasses;thescreensofquickset,thebillowydraperyofbeechandelmseemedbestaway;andwithgreatcheerfulnessofspirithepushedontowardstheWildWood,whichlaybeforehimlowandthreatening,likeablackreefinsomestillsouthernsea.

           Therewasnothingtoalarmhimatfirstentry.Twigscrackledunderhisfeet,logstrippedhim,fungusesonstumpsresembledcaricatures,andstartledhimforthemomentbytheirlikenesstosomethingfamiliarandfaraway;butthatwasallfun,andexciting.Itledhimon,andhepenetratedtowherethelightwasless,andtreescrouchednearerandnearer,andholesmadeuglymouthsathimoneitherside.

           Everythingwasverystillnow.Theduskadvancedonhimsteadily,rapidly,gatheringinbehindandbefore;andthelightseemedtobedrainingawaylikeflood-water.

           Thenthefacesbegan.

           Itwasoverhisshoulder,andindistinctly,thathefirstthoughthesawaface,alittle,evil,wedge-shapedface,lookingoutathimfromahole.Whenheturnedandconfrontedit,thethinghadvanished.

           Hequickenedhispace,tellinghimselfcheerfullynottobeginimaginingthingsortherewouldbesimplynoendtoit.Hepassedanotherhole,andanother,andanother;andthenyes!no!yes!certainlyalittle,narrowface,withhardeyes,hadflashedupforaninstantfromahole,andwasgone.Hehesitatedbracedhimselfupforaneffortandstrodeon.

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Roboto Lora
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