trowel and knife, he straddled the hedge.
“I’ll wring thy neck for thee!” he vowed.
A sandal in the trellis, a light spring, and his head came even with her. She backed away, raising her wings a little, and gawking in protest. He took a fresh grip on the wall, reached out and caught her like a chicken–by both legs.
Wild screeches rang through the garden, screeches that put the sparrows to flight and set the canary cheeping in fear. These were punctuated next by raucous appeals for “Tony” or gurgley parrot language.
The padre was down now, and standing on the path again. But
