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Great storm clouds hung in the sky that day. The dark grass in the fields rippled like water. In the valleys there was hawthorn blossom heaped at the side of the road like newly fallen snow, while higher up there were gorse blossoms scattered everywhere on the tarmac. The petals were surprisingly white; once they separate from the mother bush, they lose their characteristic deep yellow.

On the Coa Road, I saw a single black eye peering up at me from the verge. I bent forward, like the boy in The Borrowers when he spots little Arrietty lying in the…

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