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and circled like a hawk. His flight was as swift as the
swallow’s, as certain as the falcon’s. Looking down
upon the earth-bound crowds blinking up at him,
he wished he might make for them all a similar pair
of wings, so that they too could rise into the
rarefied air. The thought that others might not share
his pleasure robbed him of all feeling of triumph.
Ah, that cruel Wood Nymph—if he could only
meet her!
Then with eyes almost blinded by the dazzling
glare of the sun, he saw some one flying toward him
on wings like his own, saw yellow hair floating in
the wind, billowing green silk, and a pair of shining
eyes. It was she!
Kevenhüller did not pause to reflect, but, with
flirious speed, rushed upon the vixen to kiss or beat
her, he hardly knew which, but in any case to force
her to remove her curse from him. As he thrust out
his hands to seize her, his wings caught in hers and
he felt himself being whirled round and round, then
dashed down—he knew not where.
When he came to he was lying on the roof of his
tower, the demolished flying machine at his side. He
had flown against his own windmill, whose wings
had caught and hurled him down.
So ended his flying dream. He was again a
despondent man. Ordinary labor now irked him, and
he dare not make further use of his creative power.
Were he to fashion another marvel only to destroy
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