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.
The fall had turned to winter and then back again without conviction, November’s chill taken up and dropped like a woman never wearing the right coat until finally December laughed and took hold.
