During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. A young man was playing the banjo. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. And see!" he added, as the figures drew back, and the lights disappeared; "it's a false alarm. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse.
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