_A discerning critic once pointed out that Edgar Allen Poe possessed not so much a distinctive style as a distinctive _manner_. So startlingly original was his approach to the dark castles and haunted woodlands of his own somber creation that he transcended the literary by the sheer magic of his prose. Something of that same magic gleams in the darkly-tapestried little fantasy presented here, beneath Evelyn Smith's eerily enchanted wand._ A man may wish he'd married his first love and not really mean it. But an insincere wish may turn ugly in dimensions unknown.…
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