His dreams
had fled even from his memory, but had left a sense of grievous
discomfort. He rose and looked out of the window. The Glamour spread
out and rushed on like the torrent of a sea forsaking its old bed. Down
its course swept many dark objects, which he was too far off to
distinguish. He dressed himself, and went down to its edge--not its
bank: that lay far within and far beneath its torrent. The water,
outspread where it ought not to be, seemed to separate him from the
opposite country by an impassable gulf of space, a visible
infinitude--a vague marvel of waters. Past him swept trees torn up by
the roots. Down below, where he could not see, stones were rolling
along the channel. On the surface, sheaves and trees went floating by.
Then a cart with a drowned horse between the shafts, heaved past in the
central roll of the water. Next came something he could not understand
at first. It was a great water-wheel. This made him think of the mill,
and he hurried off to see what the miller was doing.
Truffey went stumping through the rain and the streams to the morning
school. Gladly would he have waited on the bridge, which he had to
cross on his way, to look at the water instead.
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