Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. All these wonderful comrades, henceforth and for ever hers. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. “I suppose Paris is very, very distracting.
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