The Wistful Mountain
The mountains of Scotland had always spoken to Sir Julian Ashworth in a language he could barely decipher, and it was this very ambiguity that had drawn him to the highlands as a young man of twenty-three, fresh from the suffocating drawing-rooms of Mayfair with their porcelain figurines and polite conversations about the weather. Now at forty-five, Julian stood on the ridge of Ben More Assynt...
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