H. G. Wells,
The Works of H. G. Wells
(1924)
“ There is a place on the moor where the black water shines among the succulent moss, and the hairy sundew, eater of careless insects, spreads its red-stained hungry hands to the God who gives his creatures—one to feed another. On a ridge thereby grow birches with a silvery bark, and the soft green of the larch mingles with the dark green fir. Thither through the honey-humming heather came the Vicar in the heat of the day, carrying a gun under his arm, a gun loaded with swanshot for the Strange Bird. ”
