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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

She replied to the look in words:--
"I am his pupil, too, Davie," she said, "though Mr. Grant does not
know it."
"How can that be," answered Davie, "when you are afraid of him? I am
not a bit afraid of him!"
"How do you know I am afraid of him?" she asked.
"Oh, anybody could see that!"
She was afraid she had spoken foolishly, and Davie might repeat her
words: she did not desire to hasten further intimacy with Donal;
things were going in that direction fast enough! Her eyes, avoiding
Davie's, kept reconnoitring the stack of chimneys.
"Aren't you glad to have such a castle all for your own--to do what
you like with, Arkie? You know you could pull it all to pieces if
you liked!"
"Would it be less mine," said Arctura, "if I was not at liberty to
pull it all to pieces? And would it be more mine when I had pulled
it to pieces, Davie?"
Donal was coming round the side of the stack, and heard what she
said. It pleased him, for it was not a little in his own style.
"What makes a thing your own, do you think, Davie?" she went on.
"To be able to do with it what you like," replied Davie.
"Whether that be good or bad?"
"Yes, I think so," answered Davie, doubtfully.
"Then I think you are quite wrong," she rejoined. "The moment you
begin to use a thing wrong, that moment you make it less yours. I
can't quite explain it, but that is how it looks to me.


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