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

"She"

I never saw anything like it;
nobody ever saw anything like the frightful age that was graven on that
fearful countenance, no bigger now than that of a two-months' child,
though the skull remained the same size, or nearly so, and let all men
pray they never may, if they wish to keep their reason.
At last she lay still, or only feebly moving. She, who but two minutes
before had gazed upon us the loveliest, noblest, most splendid woman the
world has ever seen, she lay still before us, near the masses of her own
dark hair, no larger than a big monkey, and hideous--ah, too hideous for
words. And yet, think of this--at that very moment I thought of it--it
was the _same_ woman!
She was dying: we saw it, and thanked God--for while she lived she could
feel, and what must she have felt? She raised herself upon her bony
hands, and blindly gazed around her, swaying her head slowly from side
to side as a tortoise does. She could not see, for her whitish eyes were
covered with a horny film.


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