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As they turned off the main road through tunnels of overhanging branches, the landscape opened up into broad stretches of parkland, mapped out by stone walls and stands of trees, rising in soft folds. At a cross-roads, Andy jerked his head to the right. “Whatsisname lives up that way,” he said. “You know, Cameron. Big place, drove past it with the boss.”

“I’ve seen pictures,” Stephen said. “The tabloids always call it a cottage.”

“Some fucking cottage.”

  In the middle distance, revealed through a curve of the road, a giant figure spread itself across a low slope of hillside, naked limbs carved through the turf into the chalk, spread-eagled, arms and legs stretched wide, as though falling from a height or aspiring to fly, his huge erect penis standing straight up against his body, reaching halfway up his chest.

“I’ve read about this,” Stephen said. “The Stiffley Giant. Slow down, I want to take a picture.”

“Stiffley?” Andy said. “They got that right.” 

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