Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. I suppose my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in God the Father Almighty, substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein of vague sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus Christ, His Son. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir.
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