Me Is The Only One What Won't

I Was Observing Her Closely As I Talked, And After A While I Began To Get The Impression That She Was Not, In Fact, Quite So Merry And Smiling A Girl As I Had Been Led To Believe At First. She Seemed To Be Coiled In Herself, As Though With A Secret She Was Jealously Guarding. The Deep-blue Eyes Moved Too Quickly About The Room, Never Settling Or Resting On One Thing For More Than A Moment; And Over All Her Face, Though So Faint That They Might Not Even Have Been There, Those Small Downward Lines Of Sorrow.

Writing Is Mainly Perspiration, Not Inspiration.

Lalalalalalallalalallalalalal Have Nothing To Say

When I Was 2, We Moved Into An Imposing Country Mansion 8 Miles West Of Cardiff, Wales.

Eschew All Those Beastly Adjectives.