“Where is the great man? Where is the giver of rings? Where is the joyous feast? Where is the singing? Oh, grieve for the flowing mead, grieve the great warriors, grieve the proud princes. Swallowed, all swallowed by night’s fatal shadows, leaving no trace for those left alone. It seemed to predict the ruin of the English culture.Madeleine grieved for that lost England, for with it into the mists of history had gone her own chance of happiness. It was Aimery de Gaillard’s allegiance to the p...ast which stood between them, and she could not follow the poet and resign herself to the workings of fate.Tears ran down her cheeks. One day, she supposed, she would be old and shriveled, and all this would seem childish folly. But now, ah now, it hurt like the cleansing fluid she had poured into Aimery’s wound. Chapter 11 contents - previous | next In the dead of night Madeleine woke to Dorothy shaking her. A crescent moon shed a little light. “What?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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