The Lost Girl by D.H. Lawrence5/26/2023 ![]() ![]() ![]() He had become meagre in figure, his skimpy but genteel coat would be buttoned over his breast, as he recounted his dream-adventures, adventures that were half Edgar Allan Poe, half Andersen, with touches of Vathek and Lord Byron and George Macdonald: perhaps more than a touch of the last. At such times his beautifully modulated voice all but sang, his grey eyes gleamed fiercely under his bushy, hairy eyebrows, his pale face with its side-whiskers had a strange lueur, his long thin hands fluttered occasionally. He enjoyed the most wonderful and fairy-like dreams, which he could describe perfectly, in charming, delicate language. ![]() Sad indeed that he died before the days of Freud. As James went further into life, he became a dreamer. She disliked and rather despised James Houghton, saw in him elements of a hypocrite, detested his airy and gracious selfishness, his lack of human feeling, and most of all, his fairy fantasy. ![]()
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