From Modern Mythcraft to Magical Surrealism

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Ozma Appears

You are my prisoner, and it is useless for you to struggle any longer,” said Glinda, in her soft, sweet voice. “Lie still a moment, and rest yourself, and then I will carry you back to my tent.”



Ligeia! Ligeia! In studies of a nature more than all else adapted to deaden impressions of the outward world, it is by that sweet word alone—by Ligeia—that I bring before mine eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more.