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Updated: October 9, 2026
I remember Sussex, and as I remember it I must, if only for example, set down my roll-call of such names, as Fittleworth, where the Inn has painted panels; Amberley in the marshes; delicate Fernhurst, and Ditchling under its hill; Arundel, that is well known to every one; and Climping, that no one knows, set on a lonely beach and lost at the vague end of an impassable road; and Barlton, and Burton, and Duncton, and Coldwatham, that stand under in the shadow and look up at the great downs; and Petworth, where the spire leans sideways; and Timberley, that the floods make into an island; and No Man's Land, where first there breaks on you the distant sea.
"You aren't thinking of it," I said. "You haven't left him. You've only been for a good long walk to Fittleworth, and we've come to fetch you back in the car." "Haven't I told you that I can't and won't use Jimmy's car?" "You can't use it to run away from him in; but you can very well use it to go back to him." "I'm not going back to him," she said. "Can't you see that I've burnt my boats?"