Soon as they saw her well-faured face
They cast the glamour oure her.
'Yes,' I said, 'I am convinced that my illusion is the result of two
causes, my own brooding over Winnie's tragedy and the glamour that
Sinfi sheds around her, either consciously or unconsciously; that
imperious imagination of hers which projects her own visions upon the
senses of another person either with or without an exercise of her
own will. This is the explanation, I am convinced.'
Wheresoever I now went, Snowdon's message to my heart was, 'She
lives,' and my heart accepted the message. And then the new blessed
feeling that Winnie was not lying in a pauper grave had an effect
upon me that a few who read these pages will understand--only a few.
Perhaps, indeed, even those I am thinking of, those who, having lost
the one being they loved, feel that the earth has lost all its
beauty--perhaps even these may not be able to sympathise fully with
me in this matter, never having had an experience remotely comparable
with mine.
When I thought of Winifred lying at the bottom of some chasm in
Snowdon, my grief was very great, as these pages show.
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