Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. They would arrive sometime in June. “She contrives somehow to strike the personal note in an amazing manner. "Extinguish the light," cried Jack; "turn to the left.
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