Over lunch, which they ate in one of the grassy clearings near the Nelly Ayre Foss, they discussed progress. Roland had been reading Melusina in bed and was now convinced that Christabel had been in Yorkshire. “It has to be here. Where do people think it is? It’s full of local words from here, gills and riggs and ling. The air is from here. Like in his letter. She talks about the air like summer colts playing on the moors. That’s a Yorkshire saying.” “I suppose if it is, no one has noticed it before because they weren’t looking. That is—her landscapes were always supposed to be really
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