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The thin line of bushes and other undergrowth at the hillock's foot were quickly consumed; leaving only a broad bed of ember and spark. And the conflagration swept on to the left, over the only course open to it. To the right, the multiple ridges of rock and the dearth of vegetation were sufficient "No Thoroughfare" enforcement.
Structures in contact meet the eye Upon the hillock's top on high; Into each other fastened they The form of a hard knot display.
Brookfield village lay in a great wide meadow through which strayed one of Moose Hillock's lost brooks a brook tired out with leaping from bowlder to bowlder and taking headers into deep pools, and plunging down between narrow walls of rock.
The mole, that scoops with curious toil Her subterranean bed, Thinks not she plows a human soil, And mines among the dead. Yet, whereso'er she turns the ground, My kindred earth I see: Once every atom of this mound Lived, breathed, and felt, like me. Through all this hillock's crumbling mould Once the warm lifeblood ran: Here thine original behold, And here thy ruins, man!
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