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C.S. Lewis
Who is Ungit?’ said he, still holding my hand. Then he led me across the floor; and, a long way off before we came to it, I saw that mirror on the wall, just where it always had been. At the sight of it my terror increased, and I fought with all my strength not to go on. But his hand had grown very big now and it was as soft and clinging as Batta’s arms, or as the tough clay we had been digging, or as the dough of a huge loaf. I was not so much dragged as sucked along till we stood right in front of the mirror. And in it I saw him, looking as he had looked that other day when he led me to the mirror long ago. But my face was the face of Ungit as I had seen it that day in her house. ‘Who is Ungit?’ asked the King. ‘I am Ungit.
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