"On n'est pas dans le futurisme, mais dans un drame bourgeois ou un thriller atmosphérique"
In the midst of the lone forest which shadowed in ancient times a large portion of the country of the Dobuni, and which extended over hill and dale, far as the distant mountains of the Silures, [2] and on either side the river that waters this part of Britain, stood a solitary yew. On the verge of the forest, and in places cleared of timber for the purpose, rose the conically-shaped huts of the natives; the dwelling of the chief- tain was somewhat larger than the rest, and around it stood the wattled cabins of his dependents. Their arts were few and simple, and their habits those of men who were scarcely advanced beyond a savage state: corn was occasionally cultivated, but in general they lived by hunting, or fed upon the flocks which they pastured in the open country.
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