WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
Begor, I have him, here," 
yelled the man, and struck 
the bush. 
The Yellow Pullet fluttered 
up on windy whirring vans, 
whose power long generations 
of disuse had staled. She saw 
the man's hot red face below 
her. She struggled up-up, 
higher than the sapling tops. 
She had never flown so high. 
She saw the line of beaters 
five abreast stretched across 
the wood : she saw the man 
who stood under the hedge 
raise his gun and glance along 
the barrel. The Yellow Pullet 
shrieked hysterically, and beat 
impotently against the golden 
leaves above her. The old 
spirit of the jungle-cock in her burnt as strong 
as ever, but time had left him meagre instru- 
ments wings round - quilled and loose, a 
heart and lungs unused to violent flights. She 
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