I wish you would stay to tea, but I expect you are dying to get back to Priorsford.

That little town has you in its thrall." "I wish," said Jock, "that The Rigs could be lifted up by some magician and plumped down in Laverlaw Glen." "Oh, Jock, wouldn't that be fine ?" sighed the Mhor.

"Plumped right down at the side of the burn, and then we could fish out of the windows." The sun had left the glen, the Laverlaw Water ran wan; it seemed suddenly to have become a wild and very lonely place.
"Now I can believe about the raiders coming over the hills in an autumn twilight," said Pamela.

"There is something haunted about this place.

In Priorsford we are all close together and cosy: that's what I love about it." "You've grown quite suburban," Lewis taunted her.