I speak English to you because it is your manner of talk, though not your manner of life." "How do you know it is not my manner of life ?" "Because you are not happy in it.

Your manner of life is ours.

It has nothing to do with nations or peoples.

You are Morgana." "And you ?" she cried with sudden eagerness--"Oh, who are you that speak to me ?--man, woman, or angel?
What are the dwellers in your city, if it is in truth a city, and not a dream!" "Look again and see!" answered the Voice--"Convince yourself!--do not be deceived! You are not dreaming--Look and make yourself sure!" Impelled to movement, she went to the window which she had left to take up the steering-gear,--and from there saw again the wonderful scene spread out below, the towers, spires, cupolas and bridges, all lit with that mysterious golden luminance like smouldering sunset fire.
"It is beautiful!" she said--"It seems true--it seems real--" "It IS true-it IS real!"-- the Voice replied--"It has been seen by many travellers,--but because they can never approach it they call it a desert 'mirage.' It is more real and more lasting than any other city in the world." "Can I never enter it ?" she asked, appealingly--"Will you never let me in ?" There was a silence, which seemed to her very long.

Still standing at the window of her cabin she looked down on the shining city, a broad stretch of splendid gold luminance under the canopy of the dark sky with its millions of stars.