Explore "Ends of The Earth" by Mary Gaunt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A howling wind was blowing, and most of the ground was in the air. It filled eyes and ears and mouth with dust he knew was filthy, and Roger Blake swore vigorously. His China pony, a vicious little brute, bucked and kicked and danced along sideways, and otherwise showed his objections to a North China dust storm.
-"You were born to it, you little beast," cried Blake, losing his temper, and bringing down his lithe cane with force upon the pony's flank.