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176 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1964
… a silent village, a wandering fugitive whom no one seemed anxious to discuss, a missing pistol, a face at a window, a damp patch in a dead man’s room—but now? The deliberately half-cut rope could not be easily dismissed.
In books, Deborah thought, there is inevitably a lightning denouement and the villains are neatly whisked away. You don’t have to sit with them like relatives waiting for the result of an operation.
A mile off, and a thousand feet down.
So Tom found it […]. For the bottom of the valley was just one field broad, and on the other side ran the stream; and above it, grey crag, grey down, grey stair, grey moor, walled up to heaven.
A quiet, silent, rich, happy place; a narrow crack cut deep into the earth; so deep, and so out of the way, that the bad bogies can hardly find it out. The name of the place is Vendale; and if you want to see it for yourself, you must go up into the High Craven, and search from Bolland Forest north by Ingleborough, to the Nine Standards and Cross Fell […]
Herondale, Deborah thought. The wide, mysterious moors, the queer, secretive village. But now she understood […]