The Hidden Years You had been banished, yet you never left your Norfolk home; sometimes they would hear things – a peasant girl pausing at the dawn's lip, Aves fluting through a haze of faith; the old priest in his tattered robe would sometimes glimpse the curve of your gauzy form, your oval eyes, your smile, in an uncertain light. Rustling trees. The starling's flight. Sometimes a stream of gold like a layer of sun-kissed hair rivering over this blue-green world.
Sarah Law (Over four hundred years passed between the destruction of the Marian shrine at Walsingham and its restoration in the early twentieth century.)
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