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The air's like fruit juice. Threatening sticky. She wonders (aloud)whether knucklebones are perhaps off sheep (if only sheep had FISTS instead of those dutiful feet) The sheep's feet have been making knot-impressions in the dust, as though skeins of barbed wire had been rolled randomly around the paddocks by gusts of something. In the unmerciful rain the grass wipes their china feet clean. The thud of a ...