But suddenly, as we struggled round a bend, there would be a glimpse of rush walls, of peaked grass-roofs, a burst of yells, a whirl of black limbs, a mass of hands clapping, of feet stamping, of bodies swaying, of eyes rolling, under the droop of heavy and motionless foliage.
There are no more uses of "foliage" in the book.
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It’s difficult to spot the birds in the foliage.
I like to rest my eyes by periodically looking up from the computer and gazing out the window at the foliage.