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you have wearied of the valiant spires of this County Town, Of its wide white streets and glistening museums, Of its red motors and lumbering trams and self-sufficient people, I will take you walking with me to a place you have not yet seen— Half town and half country—the lonely land of the Canal. It is dearer to me than the antique town: I love it more than the rounded hills: There is no river so straight or so unearthly as the long Canal. No gloomy forest, no mysterious glen is so full of fear as that long line of sickly willows: In forests and glens you may find unpleasant beasts and irregular demons,