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THE KITH OF THE ELF-FOLK
"Oh, about ninety," she said, "or more."
"Ninety years!" exclaimed the Dean.
"No, ninety centuries," she said "I am as old as the marshes."
Then she told her story—how she had longed to be a human and go and worship God, and have a soul and see the beauty of the world, and how all the Wild Things had made her a soul of gossamer and mist and music and strange memories.
"But if this is true," said Dean Murnith, "this is very wrong. God cannot have intended you to have a soul.
"What is your name?"
"I have no name," she answered.
"We must find a Christian name and a surname for you. What would you like to be called?"
"Song of the Rushes," she said.
"That won't do at all," said the Dean.
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