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The ninth vibration and other stories by L. Adams (Lily Moresby Adams) Beck
page 132 of 266 (49%)
his head, drop by drop tolling the minutes away: the little
groping feet through the cave that would bring him food and
drink, hurrying into the warmth and sunlight again, and his only
companion the sacred Lingam which means the Creative Energy that
sets the worlds dancing for joy round the sun - that, and the
black solitude to sit down beside him. Surely his bones can
hardly be dryer and colder now than they were then! There must be
strange ecstasies in such a life - wild visions in the dark, or
it could never be endured.

And so, in marches of about ten miles a day, we came to Pahlgam
on the banks of the dancing Lidar. There was now only three weeks
left of the time she had promised. After a few days at Pahlgam
the march would turn and bend its way back to Srinagar, and to -
what? I could not believe it was to separation - in her lovely
kindness she had grown so close to me that, even for the sake of
friendship, I believed our paths must run together to the end,
and there were moments when I could still half convince myself
that I had grown as necessary to her as she was to me. No - not
as necessary, for she was life and soul to me, but a part of her
daily experience that she valued and would not easily part with.
That evening we were sitting outside the tents, near the camp
fire, of pine logs and cones, the leaping flames making the night
beautiful with gold and leaping sparks, in an attempt to reach
the mellow splendours of the moon. The men, in various attitudes
of rest, were lying about, and one had been telling a story which
had just ended in excitement and loud applause.

"These are Mahomedans," said Vanna, "and it is only a story of
love and fighting like the Arabian Nights. If they had been
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