He buttressed this by stating categorically that he was damned, double-damned, and quite possibly even thrice-damned if he was going to invite his father.
CHAPTER TWO WHICH IS MOSTLY ABOUT THE THINGS THAT HAPPEN AFTER FUNERALS
Stories are like spiders, with all they long legs, and stories are like spiderwebs, which man gets himself all tangled up in but which look so pretty when you see them under a leaf in the morning dew,
“You know what my mum once said?” said Rosie. “Er. Was it something about bringing back hanging?” “It wasnot
Grahame Coats
Grahame Coats said, “He who maketh personal phone calls on company time, lo he shall reap the whirlwind. Do you know who said that?” “You did?” “Indeed I did,” said Grahame Coats.
THERE ARE MYTH-PLACES.THEY EXIST, EACH IN THEIRown way. Some of them are overlaid on the world; others exist beneath the world as it is, like an underpainting.
Daisy was of the opinion that the real bad guys these days understood FTP sites and high-level encryption and disposable prepaid cell phones. She was not sure that the good guys did.
She didn’t walk. She didn’t fly. She moved like the wind, like a cold autumn wind that made people shiver as she passed, that stirred the fallen leaves on the pavements.