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Book, page 119 / 145 the east? "Glad to see you safe amongst us again," said the colonel, backed by almost every one of the company. "What's your quarrel with my parables, Harry?" said the curate. "Quarrel? None at all. They are the delight of my heart. I only wish you would give our friends one of your best--_The Castle_, for instance." "Not yet a while, Harry. It is not my turn for some time, I hope. Perhaps Miss Cathcart will be tired of the whole affair, before it comes round to me again." "Then I shall deserve to be starved of stories all the rest of my life," answered Adela, laughing. "If you will allow me, then," said Harry, "I will give you a parable, called _The Lost Church_, from the German poet, Uhland." "Softly, Harry," said his brother; "you are ready enough with what is not yours to give; but where is your own story that you promised, and which indeed we should have a right to demand, whether you had promised it or not?" "I am working at it, Ralph, in my spare moments, which are not very many; and I want to choose the right sort of night to tell it in, too. This one wouldn't do at all. There's no moon." "If it is a horrid story, it is a pity you did not read it last time, before you set out to cross the moor." "Oh, that night would not have done at all. A night like that drives all fear out of one's head. But indeed it is not finished yet.--May I repeat the parable now, Miss Cathcart?" "What do you mean by a _parable_, Mr. Henry?" interrupted Mrs. Cathcart. "It sounds rather profane to me."
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