One Keeps Searching For Ease, She Did

Mice Are Terribly Chatty. They Will Chat About Anything, And If There Is Nothing To Chat About, They Will Chat About Having Nothing To Chat About. Compared To Mice, Robins Are Reserved.

My Sheets Had Never Been So Clean As They Had In The Past Few Months. I Hardly Got Them On Again Before Something Else Happened And I Was Feverishly Ripping Them Off And Stuffing Them In The Wash With Double Amounts Of Soap And All The "extra" Buttons Pushed: Extra Wash, Extra Rinse, Extra Water, Extra Spin, Extra Protection Against Things That Go Bump In The Night.

One Day" She Told Them, "when You Have Retired, You Will Go To Live With A Family Who Will Love You For Your Beauty And Nothing More, And If You're Very Lucky There Will Be Children, And The Children Will Pet You And Pet You And Pet You. Ossin Has A List, I Think, Of Such Children; He Sends His Hunting-staff Out During The Months They Are Not Needed For That Work, To Look For Them, And Add Names To The List." The Fleethounds Stared Back At Her With Their Enormous Dark Liquid Eyes, And Believed Every Word.

Betrayal Would Be A Different Sort Of Sick.

...and Again She Wished For Sherwood, And The Dappled Roof Of Leaves That Never Weighed Upon Her. She Pulled Her Scarf Closer Around Her And Thought, I Would Rather Live In A Hut In The Woods; A Hut Like The One Of My First Memories, With A Clean-swept Dirt Floor, And A Brown-eyed Boy Watching Me From Behind His Mother's Skirts As I Watched Him From Behind Mine.