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Morris, William, 1834-1896

"The Roots of the Mountains; Wherein Is Told Somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale"

The
hound skirted the water, and led on unchecked till the trees began to
grow smaller and the air colder for all that the sun was higher; for
they had been going up and up all the way.
So at last after a six hours' journey they came clean out of the
pine-wood, and before them lay the black wilderness of the bare
mountains, and beyond them, looking quite near now, the great ice-
peaks, the wall of the world. It was but an hour short of noon by
this time, and the high sun shone down on a barren boggy moss which
lay betwixt them and the rocky waste. Sure-foot made no stay, but
threaded the ways that went betwixt the quagmires, and in another
hour led Face-of-god into a winding valley blinded by great rocks,
and everywhere stony and rough, with a trickle of water running
amidst of it. The hound fared on up the dale to where the water was
bridged by a great fallen stone, and so over it and up a steep bent
on the further side, on to a marvellously rough mountain-neck, whiles
mere black sand cumbered with scattered rocks and stones, whiles
beset with mires grown over with the cottony mire-grass; here and
there a little scanty grass growing; otherwhere nought but dwarf
willow ever dying ever growing, mingled with moss or red-blossomed
sengreen; and all blending together into mere desolation.


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