TWO:So the fight raged on, the Battle of Boarzell. Unfortunately it did not rage on Boarzell itself, but on its fruitful fringe, where the great ploughfields lapped up to the base of the Moor, taking the sunset on their wet brown ridges. Poor Ginner's winter wheat was all pulped and churned to ruin, and the same doom fell on Ditch's roots. Sometimes it seemed as if the Squire's men would attain their object, for the fencevery tottery and uncertain, it must be confessedhad wound a bit of the way past Totease towards Odiam. Dusk had fallen, but the men still worked, for their blood was up.
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THREE:"It is a stole for my brother, the monk, my lord," replied Margaret in a tremulous voice.- Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.
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