... certain to break them up, and perhaps drive them into Southlands. 'Good poachers preserve their own game:' so the birds fed safely, though a pot shot would not have seemed, the crime then that it would now. While I watched them suddenly the old bird 'quat,' and ran swiftly into the hedge, followed by the rest. A kestrel was hovering in the next meadow: when the beat of his wings ceased he slid forward and downwards, then rose and came over me in a bold curve. Well those little ... — The Amateur Poacher • Richard Jefferies
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