"It can't be that I am in Devonshire," she said. "I never realised how
much like a succession of pictures conversation can be. You seem to
remind me so much of things which I have kept locked away just because
I have had no one to share them with."
"You are in Devonshire all right," he answered, smiling. "You will
realise it when you turn out of my avenue and face the hills. You see,
you've dropped down from the fairyland of 'up over' to the nesting place
of the owls and the gulls."
"Nine hundred feet," she murmured. "Thank heavens for my forty
horsepower engine! I want to see the sea break against your rocks," she
went on, as she took the cigarette which he passed her. "There used to
be a little path through your plantation to a place where you look
sheer down. Don't you remember, you took me there the first time I
came to see you, in August, and I have never forgotten it."
He rang the bell for her coat. The night, though windy and dark, was
warm. Stars shone out from unexpected places, pencil-like streaks of
inky-black clouds stretched menacingly across the sky.
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