It’s then that I lose heart. My mind trickles to a stop at the bottom of a hill. While staring at nothing at all on the ground with downcast half-eyes, I sneak glimpses of the small aeroplane turning on its heel and strolling across the field, drawing momentum up through blades of shaved grass. Tiny faces in the windows, dirty white paint. Dad is still at my side speaking steadily, hopefully, insistently. The six-seater clenches and climbs.
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