Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily. But, after all, it will be different. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. 4.
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