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In London I lived for my work, apart from some spare time spent in the study and collecting of watercolors. Some years later, he did so. That my peace of mind was about to be disturbed, and memories awakened that I had thought forever dead, I had, naturally, no idea. Will lay on his stomach before the fire, his face aglow, chin propped upon his hands.

The Woman in Black by Susan Hill

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From the windows, the view stretched no farther than a yard or two down the garden. It was wretched weather, never seeming to come fully light, and raw, too. Bentley was now looking at me curiously, from the trap. Bentley believed it too, internet farmers only dating website options and that a burden had been lifted from his own shoulders.

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In all honesty, I could not have wished it so. Tonight, I smelled at once, and with a lightening heart, that there had been a change in the weather. The dampness and fogs of the past week had stolen away like thieves into the night, the paths and the stone walls of the house gleamed palely and my breath smoked on the air.

And, now, it was to this happy home that my family had once again repaired for Christmas. Below us are pastures, interspersed with small clumps of mixed, broadleaf woodland.

Bentley that if ever he were to hear that the house was for sale, I should be eager to know of it. At the far end of the room stood the tree, candlelit and bedecked, and beneath it were piled the presents. There would be no snow for them on the morrow, but Christmas Day would at least wear a bright and cheerful countenance. Beyond that, I glimpsed the perimeter of some rough-looking, open land.

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Inside the house, the lamps were lit throughout the day and the walls of larder, outhouse and cellar oozed damp and smelled sour, the fires sputtered and smoked, burning dismally low. She had been the most sensible, responsible of daughters, she was affectionate and charming, and she seemed to have found, in the calm and level-headed Aubrey Pearce, an ideal partner. It was rare for me to sit back and do nothing. All the previous week, we had had rain, chilling rain and a mist that lay low about the house and over the countryside.

So it came about that I was sitting beside Mr. Certainly, it was very cold and clear at last. But he was becoming more and more of a country-dweller. To one side of it, a stream ran between the banks toward the meadow beyond, whence it made its meandering way down to the river.

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Indeed, since those earlier experiences I had deliberately avoided all contemplation of any remotely nonmaterial matters, and clung to the prosaic, the visible and tangible. But at our backs for several square miles it is a quite different area of rough scrub and heathland, a patch of wildness in the midst of well-farmed country. The sky was pricked over with stars and the full moon rimmed with a halo of frost. But all of that could not have been further from my conscious thought at least, as I stood taking in the night air at the door of my house, on that Christmas Eve. On that day, I truly believed that I had at last come out from under the long shadow cast by the events of the past and saw from his face and felt from the warmth of his handclasp that Mr.