Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. He tried to raise an outcry, but his throat was again forcibly griped by Rowland. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. "The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. A lawyer has come all the way from America about it.
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