Penelope Cholmondely raised her azure eyes from the crabbed scenario. She meandered among the congeries of her memoirs. There was the Kinetic Algernon, a choleric artificer of icons and triptychs, who wanted to write a trilogy. For years she had stifled her risibilities with dour moods. His asthma caused him to sough like the zephyrs among the tamarack.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
All I want is one thing and that is what you want
What an exceptionally dangerous thing to finally find, in my current state of mind.
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