the smell of ivy around him was very strong. Ivy, green growing things. Trees. That was what this blasted landscape needed, Saul thought. He wanted solid earth under his feet, great oaks wrapped with ivy, graceful birches, the protective hawthorns and rowans of Camlet Moat. He brought the memory to mind again, making himself see the dappled sunlight, gold and green; feel the water on his face and in his throat. That was his England: not the brown peat-water and rank grass of a landscape that at best tolerated humankind, and had been broken because it would not be tamed. He made himself think
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