All Whispers And Echoes From A Past

Those Dripping Crumpets, I Can See Them Now. Tiny Crisp Wedges Of Toast, And Piping-hot, Flaky Scones. Sandwiches Of Unknown Nature, Mysteriously Flavoured And Quite Delectable, And That Very Special Gingerbread. Angel Cake, That Melted In The Mouth, And His Rather Stodgier Companion, Bursting With Peel And Raisins. There Was Enough Food There To Keep A Starving Family For A Week.

There Is No Going Back In Life. There Is No Return. No Second Chance.

When One Is Writing A Novel In The First Person, One Must Be That Person.

I Could Not Ask Forgiveness For Something I Had Not Done. As Scapegoat, I Could Only Bear The Fault.

Dead Men Tell No Tales, Mary.