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He warned them that grain grown in such a mysterious and suspicious soil could not but give them the itch and elflock, and that one day their souls must inevitably sink for ever in the pool of fire.

"How remarkable!" said Henry, his attention called off by a being with a face that half suggested a faun, and half suggested a flower,--a small, olive-skinned face crowned with purply black hair, that kept falling in an elflock over his forehead, and violet eyes set slant-wise.