O Douglas

Priorsford O Douglas

At its back, beyond the home-woods, was a remote land of sheep-walks and forgotten hamlets; at its feet the young Thames, in lazy reaches, wound through water-meadows. The house itself was of Cotswold stone, grey and bleak in rain, but in summer honey-coloured as if it had absorbed the sun. It was as much a part of the landscape as a boulder on the hill-side. Built in many periods and many styles, it had been so subtly blended by time that it seemed a perfect thing, without beginning, as long descended as the downs that sheltered it.