friskin

Don't fear the reaper.

The sweetness of your laughter.

(And how he laughed! I didn't even need to say a word.)

"Any special plans for the weekend?" "Putting in the garden."

(And nothing else mattered.)

I was jealous. There was no need for her to speak quite so loudly when she knew it would get her nothing but attention. I kept my mouth shut.

("There is a sort of men whose visages do cream and mantle like a standing pond.")