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[Page 154]

(6)
of amber, old gold, and gold of rich browns and reds, and coppery greens;
The very air which floods into this mass of rich hues is a tinge of color, but it is delicate of the purple grey of mist as though touched-in by a brush dipped into distance.
The whole mass in its gorgeousness is as paint
You feel that you could go over there and touch the canvas of a masterpiece and yet you feel that it might vanish if you did
See now sunbeams are thrust into the [massy?] splendour like golden swords, and there is depth in the color..
Golden butterflies are falling floating through the beams. These are

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