“When the low hills dropped, furrows fledged with young wheat-blades ran symmetrically into the distance under scores of larks.The footpath wandered through whitewashed farms and the yards of low manor-houses and later through spinneys filled with violets and primroses.Streams unwound under the willow branches, dwindling and expanding again into pools that were covered with watercress and duckweed and giant kingcups.”
-Patrick Leigh Fermor, A Time of Gifts
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