“A little later, Nelson comes in from the west, flying low over the Hawkins’ pines as he swoops up the hill. No one knows exactly where he lives, but he always appears from somewhere in the patch of scrub at the south end of the Sports Ground, and vanishes in the same direction when dusk is falling. The Lane is his daytime beat, and he commutes to and fro as regularly as a clerk travelling between city office and suburban home. He flies swiftly eastward, and alights on the electric light pole ou...tside the Bells’ gate. This pole stands on the Lane’s highest hillcrest, and its top is gilded as soon as the sun rises out of the ocean sixteen miles away, and far below. It is thus an excellent perch for a nippy winter morning, but it has, for Nelson, two other advantages : firstly, it is the best place from which to survey his territory; and secondly, it is right beside his breakfast. Here, then, he sits for a while, fluffing out his feathers the better to enjoy the sunshine before embarking on the business of the day.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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