George Eliot Quotes
It Was A Still Afternoon - The Golden Light Was Lingering Languidly Among The Upper Boughs, Only Glancing Down Here And There On The Purple Pathway And Its Edge Of Faintly Sprinkled Moss; An Afternoon In Which Destiny Disguises Her Cold Awful Face Behind A Hazy Radiant Veil, Encloses Us In Warm Downy Wings, And Poisons Us With Violet-scented Breath.
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