Adam Bede by George Eliot

It was a still afternoon--the golden light was lingering languidly among the upper boughs, only glancing down here and there on the purple pathway and its edge of faintly sprinkled moss: an afternoon in which destiny disguises her cold awful face behind a hazy radiant veil, encloses us in warm downy wings, and poisons us with violet-scented breath. ~ Adam Bede by George Eliot Adam Bede by George Eliot

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Adam Bede by George Eliot

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