THE SOD RESISTED, for a moment. Then it gave way, and his spade sliced down through a foot of soil, transecting unseen earthworms, centipedes, dozens of lesser organisms in a sharp-edged second. Transferring his weight, he leaned on the handle and, with very great reluctance, a heavy clod of England was upturned.
The process was repeated, again and again. Each thrust, each plunge of stainless-steel blade into ground, was powered by pent-up anger. This was what he wanted. This was what he was doing. But this earth, this turf, which he loved in his very soul, were mere bystanders; unfortunates ...
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