“Pendent from the dome, flamed a mass that dazzled me — a mass, I thought, of rock-crystal, sparkling with facets, streaming with drops, ablaze with stars, and gorgeously tinged with dews of gems dissolved, or fragments of rainbows shivered. It was only the chandelier, reader, but for me it seemed the work of eastern genii: I almost looked to see if a huge, dark, cloudy hand — that of the Slave of the Lamp — were not hovering in the lustrous and perfumed atmosphere of the cupola, guarding its wondrous treasure.”

~Charlotte Brontë (Villette)
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