BY ASHLEY GREB
“Can you get down from there?”
It wasn’t really a question. His stern lilt definitely hinted at an even firmer instruction.
Somewhere over to the North East, a fantastic match was quickening apace in the chill night air; below us, to our left, a determined steward – just out of the floodlight’s glare – was trying to be heard above the partisan hullabaloo. 1,641 more words