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vyftig myl! voor pofadder ruk die hullman vogue n paar keer, proes n slag en vrek. pa haal him uit rat uit en draai en draai die sleutel, maar hy is dood. wat nou, my hartjie? vra ouma. is dit die fênbelt? pa byt net op sy tande en swaai die vogue tot op die grys langs die teer, regoor die bordjie wat sê:pofadder 50. toe klim hy in die warm son uit en maak die enjin kap oop. dit is nuwejaarsdag en ons is vieruur vanoggend al op daniëlskuilweg, op pad pofadder toe vir oom gertjie niemoller se
fifty miles! before pofadder, the hullman vogue jerks a few times, purrs and dies. dad took him out of gear and turned and turned the key, but he died. what now, my little heart? asked grandma. is it the fênbelt? dad just bites his teeth and swings the vogue up to the gray next to the tar, across the sign that says, pofadder 50. then he got out into the hot sun and opened the engine hood. it is new year's day and we are already on daniëlskuil road at four o'clock this morning, on our way to pofadder for uncle gertjie niemoller's