They held their open mouths insultedly in the air as the
motor passed. The narrow road became like marble, and the car hissed
like a glass ball rolled on a stone step. On every little hill stood a
castle made of brown chocolate, very small, but complete with turrets.
Young horses with fat stomachs and arched necks bolted sideways off the
road in fear, followed by gaily painted lattice-work carts, and plunged
far into the grassland at the side. Old women with coloured hoods swore
at them, and pulled the reins. Many pointed hills were grey with
vine-sticks, and on the crest of each of these stood a small chapel as
if to bless the wine. The countryside was wet and fresh--white, hardly
yellow--with the winter sun; moss by the roadside still dripped from the
night, and small bare orchard trees stood in brilliant grass.
"Look! How the grass grows in Germany!"
"Ah, it doesn't grow like that in the valley of the Meuse--"
Every cottage in every village was different; many wore hats instead of
roofs, wooden things like steeples, with deep eaves and carved fringes,
in which were shadowy windows like old eyes. Some were pink and some
were yellow.
Soon they left the woods and came out upon an open plateau surrounded by
wavy hills with castles on them. In the middle of the plateau was a
Zeppelin shed which looked like the work of bigger men than the crawling
peasants in the roads.
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