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Webster, Henry Kitchell, 1875-1932

"The Real Adventure"

There were hours when the whole of their two selves
literally seemed transfused into one essence; when there was nothing of
either of them that was not the other; when all their thoughts,
impulses, desires, flowered spontaneously out of a common mind. There
was no precalculating these experiences. They came upon them, seized
them, carried them off.
One of these, that neither of them will ever forget, came at the end of
a long tramp through the dawn of their second day. They had been
swinging along in almost unbroken silence through the gray mist, had
mounted a little hillock and halted, hand in hand, as the first lance of
sunlight transfixed and flushed the still vaporous air, and it had
seemed to them, as they watched, breathless, while the sun mounted, that
the whole of the life that lay before them was a track of gold like that
which blazed across the sea, leading to an intolerable glory.
And there were other hours of equally memorable transfiguration, which
their surroundings had nothing whatever to do with--hours lighted only
by the flame that flared up from their two selves.


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