"He pushed on towards the Wild Wood, which lay before him low and threatening, like a black reef in some still southern sea. There was nothing to alarm him at first entry. Twigs crackled under his feet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps resembled caricatures, and startled him for the moment by their likeness to something familiar and far away; but that was all fun, and exciting. It led him on, and he penetrated to where the light was less, and trees crouched nearer and nearer, and holes made ugly mouths at him on either side.... Then the faces began."
- Kenneth Grahame, "The Wind in the Willows"
π¨ Angel Dominquez
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