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448 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 2009
'Tell you, Bill,' says I, 'we're in for a storm, you mark my words.'
'Not till tonight, Auntie.'
Thinks he knows. Mrs Palmer says it's in his blood to sense the weather and she put it in his head that he do, but he is not always right, no. He never came up with the dreaming like the wild ones, not him. He was a baby when his poor mamma came in alone from somewhere further out, fourteen years old and all bashed up, to try and be a settler and get her certificate. She died and they put him in the Native Institute, where I got him. He's Bible-raised, a good boy, so they told me, and they were right.' (p.4)