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‘It must be the head,’ he said at last; ‘the head above the hood; and when I am once there, I must not let go.’
Then he jumped. The head was lying a little clear of the water jar, under the curve of it; and, as his teeth met, Rikki braced his back against the bulge of the red earthenware to hold down the head. This gave him just one second’s purchase, and he made the most of it. Then he was battered to and fro as a rat is shaken by a dog.
Poem of the week “The Sea and the Hills”
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