The Three Brontes

It is impossible to write of the Bronte sisters and forget the place they lived in, the black-grey, naked village, bristling like a rampart on the clean edge of the moor
the street, dark and steep as a gully, climbing the hill to the Parsonage at the top
the small oblong house, naked and grey, hemmed in on two sides by the graveyard, its five windows flush with the wall, staring at the graveyard where the tombstones, grey and naked, are set so close that the grass hardly grows between.