He was sitting by the open window and looking out on the valley, and saw, as if in a picture, the intricate winding of the brook, the grey bridge, and the vast hills rising beyond; all still and without a breath of wind to stir the mystic hanging woods, and the evening sunshine glowed warm on the bracken, and down below a faint mist, pure white, began to rise from the stream.
from The Shining Pyramid by Arthur Machen (1895)
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