““Above her, the triple summit of Ben Cruachan overhung the loch like a thundercloud; and the hills lay piled against one another, more purple than the heather, bluer than the still loch waters, lifting against the heart-shaking blue of a summer sky. It was no longer the Scotland of rain and mist, and whaups crying before a high wind; it was an enchanted place, touched with magic, as if each moor and hill had taken to itself the gay wild lilt of the Gaelic heart””
