A man melted into the throng of tourists gathered along the E Street walkway.
No Regrets. Stupid name for a signature cocktail. Brears had found the recipe online, this tequila-Baileys thing.
My mother kept bees: Apis mellifera ligustica, the Ligurian bee, which exists in its purest strain here on Kangaroo Island.
The field is full of flowers. None of those words is a lie, but they’re not true either, because they’re too small, too inadequate, too little to describe the field, its fullness, the flowers.
Diary of a Wimpy Kid world to expand in April 2019 with new book: DIARY OF AN AWESOME FRIENDLY KID
It’s rained for forty days and forty nights, so when a guy who looks like Jesus in orange SES overalls comes to stand next to her, Rosie thinks it’s all a bit biblical.
So here’s how it is: I’m a live-in carer for Walter Smyth. He is very rich, very old, very sick and very senile. Over the next eight years, dozens of people will occupy this role.
She made her skittering, sliding way down the riverbank. Her trainers hit the flat ground at the lip of the water, and she wobbled but recovered.
The call comes at 3 a.m. The jagged ring of the bedside telephone tearing a hole in our sleep. I reach out a hand to silence it.
Red and yellow leaves drift down through the sunlight on to the wet asphalt, which cuts through the woods like a dark and glassy river.
Dusk at the end of winter, and two men walked in the door-yard of a palace scarred by fire.
Jean Farmer took the call, and regretted instantly that she’d been the one to pick up the phone.
The three boys bounded through the grass towards the forest, a spray of panicky hoppers glimmering around them, while John Henry recited the passage from Scouting for Boys that approved the adventure.
“You have four kinds of sparkling water,” Mia reports from the depths of our refrigerator.
To get to the tiny village of Kittredge, Colorado, which for five days in 1987 became the unlikely center of the political solar system, you have to take the interstate about ten miles west of Denver
Even the most perfect life can shatter in seconds, and Brook Connor’s nightmare began approximately two minutes after she walked through her front door.
