I never met a painted ceiling I didn't like. This is the quire at Salisbury.
"Sophie remained on Silbury Hill – the surrounding countryside didn’t look much different, except for the rough track where the highway would one day run – but she had no idea of the year. There was no sign of another living thing anywhere to be seen. Except. Someone held her hand." Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 41
"The bristling banks of heather, whose late summer purple bloom shone wine-dark under the headlights, turned the hills as dark as the sky." Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 38
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Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 35
They walked to the wall and leaned against it. Beyond them stretched the Northumbrian moors. Sophie caressed the ancient stones under her hands, thinking of the work gangs who had placed them there and the Roman soldiers who had paced back and forth on this very hilltop, keeping watch for howling blue-daubed hordes descending out of the north.
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Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 33:
The two-lane highway trudged up hill and dipped down dale through villages built of stern, square brown stone that seemed to frown upon strangers passing through.
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Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 30
Back in her room, she pushed back the gauzy curtain and opened the window to the night air. All shapes and sizes of chimney pots on the rooftops of Ambleside stood out in black relief against a star-struck sky. Somewhere out there the shade of her father might be still in deep conversation with William Wordsworth.
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Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 29
Ambleside resembled a study in grey, brown, and green. Just down the street, an ancient wooden water wheel rose high and dry from a stone well beside an ivied wall.
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