“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. "Hold hard," cried he, addressing the waterman; "I'll give the gentleman a lift.
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