Page:The pagan's progress (IA thepagansprogress00morrrich).pdf/267

 was no labor in his movements. He was like a fire that feeds on its own progress. He was running on the tireless feet of love and hate.

In the morning, he came out on a cup-like and barren plain that was between the foothills of the mountains and the mountains themselves, and a mile before him, running on the feet of fear, waist deep in the white mist of the morning, he saw the man.