Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. “Julian, I don’t know how to put this. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia.
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