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What a sea-wall they are, those Exmoor hills! Sheer upward from the
sea a thousand feet rise the downs; and as we slide and stagger
lazily along before the dying breeze, through the deep water which
never leaves the cliff, the eye ranges, almost dizzy, up some five
hundred feet of rock, dappled with every hue; from the intense dark
of the tide-line, through the warm green and brown rock-shadows, out
of which the horizontal cracks of the strata loom black, and the
breeding gulls show like lingering snow-flakes; up to the middle
cliff, where delicate grey fades into pink, pink into red, red into
glowing purple; up to where the purple is streaked with glossy ivy
wreaths, and black-green yews; up to where all the choir of colours
vanishes abruptly on the mid-hill, to give place to one yellowish-
grey sheet of upward down, sweeping aloft smooth and unbroken, except
by a lonely stone, or knot of clambering sheep, and stopped by one
great rounded waving line, sharp-cut against the brilliant blue. The
sheep hang like white daisies upon the steep; and a solitary falcon
rides, a speck in air, yet far below the crest of that tall hill.
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