John Clanchy


She had come to him shortly after he had taken up the farm. Fifteen years, but the day was full of hope and he remembered it like yesterday. She had tumbled down from the truck, long-legged and spindly like a young girl, and stood in the paddock before him, her eyes bright and wild with fear at the bare endless spaces about her. She had never left her mother's side before, on a coastal farm, ordered, small-fielded, lush and English. But this brown vacancy could swallow her whole, her body seemed to say, there was nothing to hold her in. It was days before she allowed his hands on her.



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