On the third trip she sat on a stool. Lifted a jar to her lips. Let the juice trickle down her chin. She scooped out a fat juicy plum, bit into the sweet fruit, pictured the boy-man. His black eyes, honey-coloured skin. She took another bite and remembered his tongue in her mouth.
From 'Heat' by Margo Daly
The hole was finished. It had taken three nights of digging and three nights of watching. Billy had dug. Lyle had watched from the safety of his side of the fence. Now it was done. A shiver ran down Lyle's spine as he watched the big man mop his brow and stand back to admire his handiwork.
From 'Death in Whipstick' by Robin Murdoch
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