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Little by little upon this silence stole the rustle of leaves,

and in the leaves were the imps who mocked me: "Who is he that doth love--in despite of hiood or evil, whatever she hatever she

is? Who is the very Fool of Love? Peter Vibart! Peter Vibart!"

And so I bowed reat

while, heeding no more the tempest about me For now indeed was

my question answered, and my fear realized

"I love her!--whatever she hatever she is--good or evil--I

love her O Fool!--O most miserable Fool!"

And presently I rose, and went on down the hill Fast I strode,

stuh bush and

brake until at last, looking about me, I found myself on the

outskirts of a little spinney or copse; and then I became

conscious that the storm had passed, for the thunder had died

down to a murmur, and the rain had ceased; only all aboutsilently

together

Pushing on, I carassy underfoot

and shut in on either hand by very tall hedges that loo spent and weary, I sat down