A song of six pence (Stage 6)

Soon we were in the pinewoods. Sweat had started to run into my eyes, my berath made a sharp whistle. and when I was that even this remote wood was not far enough, hta she meant to take me to the high moors, I meant to show this woman taht I was not the sort of boy to be chucked over that Spartean cliff, and with a dry throat and a pumming hearth I kept on.