A Man Of Over Thirty Might Be

Facts Are The Soil From Which The Story Grows. Imagination Is A Last Resort.

Oh, Well. Everyone Else Has Suave, Cosmopolitan Sheep: Why Not Us? The Millers At Hepple Have A Ewe That’s Been To Kelso Three Times, And They’ve Never Been Farther Than Ford In Their Lives.” Kate Peered Absently Into The Farm Pond, And Clucked Again. “thoughtless Creatures. They’ve Forgotten The Fish.

To The Men Exposed To His Rule Lymond Never Appeared Ill: He Was Never Tired; He Was Never Worried, Or Pained, Or Disappointed, Or Passionately Angry. If He Rested, He Did So Alone; If He Slept, He Took Good Care To Sleep Apart. “—i Sometimes Doubt If He’s Human,” Said Will, Speaking His Thought Aloud. “it’s Probably All Done With Wheels.

Today,’ Said Lymond, ‘if You Must Know, I Don’t Like Living At All. But That’s Just Immaturity Boggling At The Sad Face Of Failure. Tomorrow I’ll Be Bright As A Bedbug Again.

After I Convinced Them That I Was A Harmless Novelist, I Actually Got Them To Give Me A Tour Of The Harem - Which Is Usually Off Limits For Tourists.