Life Was A Damned Muddle - A

We Haven’t Met For Many Years, Said Daisy, Her Voice As Matter-of-fact As It Could Ever Be. "five Years Next November." The Automatic Quality Set Us All Back At Least Another Minute.

Reporting The Extreme Things As If They Were The Average Things Will Start You On The Art Of Fiction.

The Lights Grow Brighter As The Earth Lurches Away From The Sun.

As We Passed Over The Dark Bridge Her Wan Face Fell Lazily Against My Coat's Shoulder And The Formidable Stroke Of Thirty Died Away With The Reassuring Pressure Of Her Hand.

Very Well Then, Better A Sane Crook Than A Mad Puritan.