The stack Karl had built in the corner of the field was dismantled and the sheaves taken to the machine which separated the grain from the stalks, flinging out the straw and sending a stream of grain down a chute into a sack. The machine was hot, noisy and smelly and the chaff floating about made everyone cough; they were soon all coated in a fine white dust that stuck to clothes, hair and perspiring skin. By the end of the day they had loaded a lorry with sacks of grain for the miller and there was a new straw stack in the field. ‘A good day’s work,’ Jean told Karl, as they made their way back to the farmyard to do the milking. ‘I shall be glad of a hot bath. I itch like mad.’ He laughed. ‘So do I, and I’ll have a fight to get near the showers.’ ‘Would you like a bath before you go back? There’s plenty of hot water.’ ‘Oh, I didn’t mean …’ ‘I know you didn’t. Come on, let’s hurry and get the cows in, then we can take it in turns.’ She bathed while he milked and when she came out to him she was wearing a check skirt and an attractive pink jumper.
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