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But there were other days when the clouds hung low and we made our way home from the lines dodging the storms. The curtains of rain, bellied by the wind, swung earthwards in sweeping curves. Beyond there would be sunlight, gilding their watery transparency. Blue-black was the undersurface of the cloud whence the gold curtain hung, silver-grey the earth where it fell in a flurry of misty splashing. Between these moving screens we threaded our course, watching the dappled surface of the earth, the sunlight polishing the roofs, the trees, the fields, making a newly varnished earth, fresh-scented after the storm.


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