Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. “You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. ” She said. “I do want you. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. “He and I don’t seem to get on at all with our fellow-guests, as Mrs. Then came the great day. " "Vot o' that?" chuckled Abraham. Something in his tone pinched her heart. She never knew what became of her farmer after that.
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