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His boots and trousers were quarrelling over that disputed territory between his knees and ankles. His boots had checked the invasion. Then a shower of pine needles came slowly down, scattering over us and hitting the timber with a faint hiss. Before we could look up, a dry stick as all i wanna do t mills as a log fell rattling on the platform. We stood a moment looking. The clouds were heaping higher, pulsing with light, roaring with thunder.