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Yellow charlock, beautiful to look upon, but hated by the farmers, takes possession of the wheat "grounds" in May, and holds the fields against all comers throughout the summer. In some parts it clothes the whole landscape like a sheet of saffron. Primroses and cowslips are of course paler still.
Where Anne and Jerrold sat, green pastures, bitten smooth by the sheep, flowed down below them in long ridges like waves. On the right the bright canary coloured charlock brimmed the field. Its flat, vanilla and almond scent came to them. "What's Yorkshire like?" "Not a patch on this place. I can't think what there is about it that makes you feel so jolly happy."
It is no more welcome to the farmer than the Poppy and the Charlock are. It is a perennial, and therefore difficult to get rid of. Moreover when we pull up a stem we find it quite hard work, it is so tough. These tough stems blunt the sickles of the reapers and the knives of the reaping machine. To us it is only a very beautiful flower.
And it was not until Lady Channice had lived for several years at Charlock House, when it became evident that, in spite of all that was suspicious, not to say sinister, in her situation, she was not exactly cast off and that her husband, so to speak, admitted her to tea if not to dinner, it was not until then that Mrs.
"But you'd always be happy, Jerrold, anywhere." "Not like that. I mean a queer, uncanny feeling that you sort of can't make out." "I know. I know... There's nothing on earth that gets you like the smell of charlock." Anne tilted up her nose and sniffed delicately. "Fancy seeing this country suddenly for the first time," he said. "There's such a lot of it. You wouldn't see it properly.
But to Amabel it was a dream after a nightmare. A strange, desolate dream, all through those sultry summer days; but a dream shot through with radiance in the thought of the magnanimity that had spared and saved her. And with the coming of the final horror, came the final revelation of this radiance. She had been at Charlock House for many weeks, and it was mid-Autumn, when that horror came.
Just before we reached the bridge connecting the islands of Ossero and Cherso, which has to be crossed before the town of Ossero is reached, great banks of spurge made the roadside as yellow as fields full of charlock in England. In a wall at the entrance of the town the S. Mark's lion still watches, though the two fortresses which report says were here are no longer traceable.
"You mustn't be worried, you know," he observed as he pointed out the last place; "I'm arranging here, you see, to pass Charlock House over to you for good. That is a little return for all you've done. It's not a valueless property. And then Bertram tied up a good sum for the child, you know." His speaking of "the child," made her heart stop beating, it brought the past so near.
His mother listened, showing a careful interest usual with her, but after another little silence she said suddenly: "I think it's a very nice place, Charlock House, Augustine. Your father wouldn't have wanted me to live here if he'd imagined that I could find it gloomy, you know." "Oh, of course not," said the young man, in an impassive, pleasant voice.
At work hoeing among the 'kelk' or 'kilk, the bright yellow charlock, the labourers stood up as the cuckoo flew over singing, and blew cuckoo back to him in their hollow fists. This is a trick they have, something like whistling in the fist, and so naturally done as to deceive any one.
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