"So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away.
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