It seemed that My Friend Flicka would never end. Rosely towed me by the hand to the local cinema to see the film but that didn’t make the reading go any faster. ‘Another chapter please—then I’ll go to sleep,’ you pleaded but that was only because there would be some other different book to be  begun at the end of it. There was—it’s sequel Thunderhead. I eventually realised it was a kindness that she had already read The Green Grass of Wyoming to herself.