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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

Then he saw that her
chin was strong, and her dark hair not too tidy; that she was rather
tall, and slenderly conceived though plumply carried out. Her light
approach pleased him. He liked the way her foot pressed the grass.
If Donal loved anything in the green world, it was neither roses
nor hollyhocks, nor even sweet peas, but the grass that is trodden
under foot, that springs in all waste places, and has so often to be
glad of the dews of heaven to heal the hot cut of the scythe. He
had long abjured the notion of anything in the vegetable kingdom
being without some sense of life, without pleasure and pain also, in
mild form and degree.


CHAPTER XXI.
A FIRST MEETING.
He took her hand, and felt it an honest one--a safe, comfortable
hand.
"My brother told me he had brought you," she said. "I am glad to see
you."
"You are very kind," said Donal. How did either of you know of my
existence? A few minutes back, I was not aware of yours."
Was it a rude utterance? He was silent a moment with the silence
that promises speech, then added--
"Has it ever struck you how many born friends there are in the world
who never meet--persons to love each other at first sight, but who
never in this world have that sight?"
"No," returned Miss Graeme, with a merrier laugh than quite
responded to the remark, "I certainly never had such a thought.


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