It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. I think not. "Ah!" exclaimed Sir James.
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