Geoff Wyatt


Guy was speaking with the slaughterman, Mr Dunnett, whose habit of planting a bloodied hand on a hip had sheened his pocket satiny brown. On one of his rabbiting forays along creekbank warrens, the old fellow had caught a kingfisher in a net and caged it in his fernhouse. Brilliant colours whirled and fluttered in a wire cocoon.



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