Vendetta
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Marie Corelli >> Vendetta
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The color of the moonlight in this climate is of a mellow amber--so
I cannot understand why that pallid ray that visits me so often,
should be green--a livid, cold, watery green; and in it, like a lily
in an emerald pool, I see a little white hand on which the jewels
cluster thick like drops of dew! The hand moves--it lifts itself--
the small fingers point at me threateningly--they quiver--and then--
they beckon me slowly, solemnly, commandingly onward!--onward!--to
some infinite land of awful mysteries where Light and Love shall
dawn for me no more.
The End
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