All eyes seemed to follow the smartly dressed young woman marching between the rows. Her head moved from side to side inspecting the finest of specimens. She stopped occasionally for a closer assessment.
‘Stand straight, Forester,’ the commander yelled. ‘What happened to you anyway?’
Forester leaned back as far as his twisted limbs could take the strain. ‘Sir, I…’
‘Hush, son. You’re a disgrace to the ranks.’
Forester watched farmer Stanley as he followed the woman who had turned into his row. Their conversation grew louder.
‘Ma’am, what kind of tree are you looking for? They all look the same to me.’
‘I need something… different.’
She stopped suddenly and pointed. ‘That one! It’s perfect.’
Staring forward, Forester focused on the woman’s jacket which blocked his view of the commander.
Stanley was scratching his head. ‘Why would anyone want a Christmas tree that looks like this? It’s just a mangled…
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