Money Is A Protection, A Cloak; It

Beautiful Women, Whose Beauty Meant More Than It Said... Was Their Brilliancy Always Fed By Something Coarse And Concealed? Was That Their Secret?

It's All Very Well To Tell Us To Forgive Our Enemies; Our Enemies Can Never Hurt Us Very Much. But Oh, What About Forgiving Our Friends?

The Sky Was A Midnight-blue, Like Warm, Deep, Blue Water, And The Moon Seemed To Lie On It Like A Water-lily, Floating Forward With An Invisible Current.

The Miracles Of The Church Seem To Me To Rest Not So Much Upon Faces Or Voices Or Healing Power Coming Suddenly Near To Us From Afar Off, But Upon Our Perceptions Being Made Finer, So That For A Moment Our Eyes Can See And Our Ears Can Hear What Is There About Us Always.

Loyal? As Loyal As Anyone Who Plays Second Fiddle Ever Is.