...'
'But tell me first,' cries she: 'how did one know one's lover, or one's
wife, flom all the others?'
'Well, by their faces....'
'But there must have been many faces--all alike--'
'Not all alike. Each was different from the rest.'
'Still, it must have been vely clever to tell. I can hardly conceive
any face, except yours and mine.'
'Ah, because you are a little goose, you see.'
'What was a goose like?'
'It was a thing like a butterfly, only larger, and it kept its toes
always spread out, with a skin stretched between.'
'Leally? How caplicious! And am I like that?--but what were you saying
that your lover, Clodagh, was?'
'She was a Poisoner.'
'Then why call me Clodagh, since _I_ am not a poisoner?'
'I call you so to remind me: lest you--lest you--should become
my--lover, too.'
'I am your lover already: for I love you.'
'What, girl?'
'Do I not love you, who are mine?'
'Come, come, don't be a little maniac!' I went. 'Clodagh was a
_poisoner_..
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