All You Did Was Sit There, He

As I Have Said, You Have No Reason To Trust Me, And An Excellent Reason Not To.

My Capacity For Invention Is Flash Hot Stark, I Thought. Sucker Sunshade. Disembodied Radar-reconnaissance. Not To Mention Bitter Chocolate Death And Killer Zebras. Pity About The Rest Of Me.

I Found That The Only Way I Could Control This Sorrow Was Not To Think Of [it] At All, Which Was Almost As Painful As The Loss Itself.

The Bus Timetable Sites Are All Run By An Inbred Cabal Of Malicious Gnomes. Who Don’t Speak English. And Who Don’t Count Very Well Either. Or Tell Time. And They Certainly Can’t Read Maps.

She Poured The Water, Arranged Some Bread Near Enough The Embers To Scorch But Not Catch Fire, And Looked Up At Little John. She Was So Accustomed To His Step, To His Bulk, That It Took A Moment To Notice His Face; And When She Did . . . It Was, She Thought, Rather Like The Moment It Took To Realize One Had Cut One's Finger As One Stared Dumbly At The First Drop Of Blood On The Knife-blade. You Know It Is Going To Hurt Quite A Lot In A Minute.