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The Story of the Goblins who stole a Sexton

           Thesnowlayhardandcrispupontheground;andspreadoverthethickly-strewnmoundsofearth,sowhiteandsmoothacoverthatitseemedasifcorpseslaythere,hiddenonlybytheirwindingsheets.Notthefaintestrustlebroketheprofoundtranquillityofthesolemnscene.Sounditselfappearedtobefrozenup,allwassocoldandstill.

           ‘"Itwastheechoes,"saidGabrielGrub,raisingthebottletohislipsagain.

           ‘"ItwasNOT,"saidadeepvoice.

           ‘Gabrielstartedup,andstoodrootedtothespotwithastonishmentandterror;forhiseyesrestedonaformthatmadehisbloodruncold.

           ‘Seatedonanuprighttombstone,closetohim,wasastrange,unearthlyfigure,whomGabrielfeltatonce,wasnobeingofthisworld.Hislong,fantasticlegswhichmighthavereachedtheground,werecockedup,andcrossedafteraquaint,fantasticfashion;hissinewyarmswerebare;andhishandsrestedonhisknees.Onhisshort,roundbody,heworeaclosecovering,ornamentedwithsmallslashes;ashortcloakdangledathisback;thecollarwascutintocuriouspeaks,whichservedthegoblininlieuofrufforneckerchief;andhisshoescurledupathistoesintolongpoints.Onhishead,heworeabroad-brimmedsugar-loafhat,garnishedwithasinglefeather.Thehatwascoveredwiththewhitefrost;andthegoblinlookedasifhehadsatonthesametombstoneverycomfortably,fortwoorthreehundredyears.

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Roboto Lora
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