The wind and heavy rain coming right off the sea rattled the cottage windows and pounded on the glass.
She crouched in front of the mirror in the dark, clinging to them. The baby in her right arm, the child in her left.
The woman jolts awake, gasping, heart pounding. Gunshots echo in her head, ones conjured in sleep.
Ava May watched the big guy she’d seen at Sydney Airport fill the empty seat beside her in the aeroplane.
‘Mais non! C’est impossible!’ Madame de Ravoisier threw up her pudgy hands. ‘All these riots. It is far too dangerous.’
Jake. There is so much I want to tell you, but we’ve always found it hard to talk to each other, haven’t we?
The winter moon lit the paving stones as Gelimer, King of the Vandals, and his brother, Tzazon, galloped their horses through the old triumphal arch, past the theater, past the forum, past the still-elegant sleeping town houses.
He was a Scorpion. First Ensign Salvio was never more proud of that fact than now. He checked his watch.
A few years ago, I had a unique experience that became the inspiration for the concept and title of this book.
July 1973 Francis Gleeson, tall and thin in his powder blue policeman’s uniform, stepped out of the sun and into the shadow of the stocky stone building that was the station house of the Forty-First Precinct.
The posts on the Stuart Highway were white with round, red reflectors attached at the top.
Catawampus. A word I’ve decided to take a real shine to in my old age.
A woman came to the barn today. Her hair was the colour of walnut wood. Her eyes were the colour of bracken in October.
Sarah smiled to herself as two more bottles of wine were ordered. Some of the school mothers were getting very loose-tongued and it was extremely entertaining.
I wake with a start. Been dreaming. Dreaming bout a light that shine bright, strong, hot, even though all round is a cool, shadowy darkness.