'She's talking to that mirror again, farther?' says Misst Craddock. Father Cradock turns round slowly from the book he is eating and explains that it is just a face she is going through and they're all the same at that age.
I saw them blooming today, and thought of you.And it's too hot already to spring anywhere:(
Shoo! Shoo!!There's snow on the ground.
Not Freddie Threepwood, but one of George Mikhail's imperfectly Angilicized Hungarian immigrants in Fifties' London. They were also in the habit of asking the fruit-seller for a dozen "bloody oranges".
Ah, does this mean I get to be a spring baby? But do think I need more than a tree of gold to induce me to come out.
dipali: :-) thank you! km: Soon there will be pictures of mangoes.anon: bloody oranges sounds like something from a particularly gruesome holi.toshi: you're protesting? you might not like the methods they use to induce you to come out - would a pungamaram tempt you?
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