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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"She"


For a moment she stood still, her hands raised high above her head, and
as she did so the white robe slipped from her down to her golden girdle,
baring the blinding loveliness of her form. She stood there, her fingers
clenched, and the awful look of malevolence gathered and deepened on her
face.
Suddenly I thought of what would happen if she discovered me, and the
reflection made me turn sick and faint. But, even if I had known that I
must die if I stopped, I do not believe that I could have moved, for
I was absolutely fascinated. But still I knew my danger. Supposing she
should hear me, or see me through the curtain, supposing I even sneezed,
or that her magic told her that she was being watched--swift indeed
would be my doom.
Down came the clenched hands to her sides, then up again above her head,
and, as I am a living and honourable man, the white flame of the fire
leapt up after them, almost to the roof, throwing a fierce and ghastly
glare upon _She_ herself, upon the white figure beneath the covering,
and every scroll and detail of the rockwork.


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