Where do you think you’re going? Mmm . . . Oh dear, george is looking a little lost, nervous, and apprehensive as he stops in his tracks after crawling straight into my exquisite leather booted foot!
My dear adorable and bumbling idiot sits like a child looking awkward, hesitant, and timid. Appearing completely out of his depth as he fidgets and picks at the twigs, bark and other vegetative matter and soil laying on the ground. Oh george you do convey the perfect resemblance of a lost juvenile about to be severely scolded for your dreadful conduct.
Well, there is some truth in that, george is always getting into trouble, it’s as though he can’t help it. Trouble is his middle name. There is no escape, as he attempts to crawl through my woodland in search for an opening to the perimeter. The hills lay beyond my grounds, and whilst they look picturesque, my prisoner will never set foot on them without my permit.
Electric fencing will stop any slave, and if my dogs happen to be out and about, a slave’s sweaty scent will be picked up, and let’s just say, I would rather have something left for me!
My grounds are extensive and they’re well observed, surveillance operates 24 / 7, eyes are everywhere! Now that works both ways, you may not enter without my personal invitation, and you may not leave without my personal permission!
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