I was living in Echuca at the time. He sniffed me out. A well-appointed little bungalow in the kerosene-tub style. River frontage. Two acres of fine soil. Tomatoes. Broccoli. The odd chook… Rhode Island Reds. Yabbies. Manure. An invalid pension. What more could a man want?
HIBBERD, JACK - Monk: A Stretch of the Imagination