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Australia 1986-87. Dilly sat in a pool of water with a bar of soap in her hands, enjoying the aftermath of a heavy downpour. She said, if I wanted, I could take a look at her collection of gold nuggets, as long as I promised not to make photographs of them. Each one had a name and special meaning and were individually wrapped in bits of rag inside old tobacco tins, safely stashed in her caravan. Dilly told me she would never sell a single nugget because they meant too much to her. |