He was in another world: he had awakened from a slumber of centuries. I had been there but an instant, however, when she vanished without looking round at me. What I had then had an ugly glimpse of was that my eyes might be sealed just while theirs were most opened. Side by side with his memory of the deeds of prowess of his uncle Mat Davin, the athlete, the young peasant worshipped the sorrowful legend of Ireland.
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