She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. There was a flash and a loud report. “Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. “I don’t know. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse.
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