Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. ” He said admiringly. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Beauty has bloomed and faded. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain.
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