"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

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From the Wall

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 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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It was a garden.

Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 26
It was a garden. Rife with pink and purple foxglove in heart-stopping profusion. Sunny faces of orange and yellow daisies. Blue delicacies of delphinium. Papery petals of white carnations, and tiny red tea roses climbing a half-timbered wall. Sophie sat on a wooden bench in a willow bower, a cool green refuge from the Kandinsky canvas of color that stood between her and the large, thatched house.
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Over the hills

Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 25

The [countryside] rolled past her window, a scroll of green meadows which disappeared over one hill and up another, and the deeper green of tree tops rose like shrubbery from the intervening vales. Here and there gabled houses gathered the warmth of the noonday sun into their golden stone walls, adding an aura of comfort to their austere facades.

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