For a wind of mystery hovers over the plains of armed Brittany. When she was informed of a burial mound in the village of Bewlay, she left London by the first locomotive, armed with a chisel, pants with suspenders and a suitcase full of "Bullshit!" to counter every local superstition. The young woman prefers the ancient burial mounds of the British moors. In this 19th century, her colleagues are busy cutting up the pyramids of Egypt with a disk saw. No! Because this wonderful era of progress was also rich in its agricultural countryside, full of misery, alcohol and sordid deaths. Victorian England should not be reduced to its industrial cities full of misery, alcohol and sordid deaths.
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