"
And again:
"My feet moved along the road they knew. The raised way led us into
a little field, bounded by a backwater of the river on one side; on
the right hand we could see a cluster of small houses and barns,
and before us a grey stone barn and a wall partly overgrown with
ivy, over which a few grey gables showed. The village road ended in
the shallow of the backwater. We crossed the road, and my hand
raised the latch of a door in the wall, and we stood presently on a
stone path which led up to the old house. The garden between the
wall and the house was redolent of the June flowers, and the roses
were rolling over one another with that delicious superabundance of
small well-tended gardens which at first sight takes away all
thought save that of beauty. The blackbirds were singing their
loudest, the doves were cooing on the roof-ridge, the rooks in the
high elm trees beyond were garrulous among the young leaves, and
the swifts wheeled whirring about the gables. And the house itself
was a fit guardian for all the beauty of this heart of summer.
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