A stiff upper lip softened by drizzle. A hardy frown melted with wellies. A ruddy complexion a welcome replacement. Clouds of fresh air the perfect cleanser. The Tamworth pigs
“What can you tell me about this dream?” Dr Otswold enquired; carefully slicing the end of his cigar before taking it between his teeth and striking a match.
The yellow car crawled along in front of them. It was acceptable to go at this speed when the tractor had been going ten miles an hour but it had turned off a while back.
The dark wooden door is swollen fattened on rain. I throw myself against it swearing as the wreath nail punctures my skin a squeal and groan consoles me. I am in, a wave greets me.