the edge of the everlasting night, where the air was full of feathers, and the soil was hard with ice; and there at last he found the Fates, by the shore of the freezing sea, nodding upon a white log of drift-wood, beneath the cold white winter moon; and they chaunted a low song together, 'Why the old times were better than the new.'' There was no living thing around them, not a fly, not a moss upon the rocks. Neither seal nor sea-gull dare come near, lest the ice should clutch them in its claws. The…
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