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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

But
Donal's unconscious desire was in reality to meet her upon some
common plane of thought. He always wanted to meet his fellow, and
hence that abundance of speech, which, however poetic the things he
said, not a few called prosiness.
"I should think," resumed Miss Graeme, "if you want to work your
imagination, you will find more scope for it at the castle than
here! This is a poor modern place compared to that."
"It is a poor imagination," returned Donal, "that requires age or
any mere accessory to rouse it. The very absence of everything
external, the bareness of the mere humanity involved, may in itself
be an excitement greater than any accompaniment of the antique or
the picturesque. But in this old-fashioned garden, in the midst of
these old-fashioned flowers, with all the gentlenesses of
old-fashioned life suggested by them, it is easier to imagine the
people themselves than where all is so cold, hard, severe--so much
on the defensive, as in that huge, sullen pile on the hilltop."
"I am afraid you find it dull up there!" said Miss Graeme.
"Not at all," replied Donal; "I have there a most interesting pupil.
But indeed one who has been used to spend day after day alone,
clouds and heather and sheep and dogs his companions, does not
depend much for pastime. Give me a chair and a table, fire enough
to keep me from shivering, the few books I like best and writing
materials, and I am absolutely content.


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