During the drive home, while Rose kept her thoughts to herself and her eyes on the green glow of the dash, I watched the headlit muddy road and thought of Ingersoll's hands.

A gunbird's passing right above us! warned an edgy Pellip.

At the drop of a hat, he would aphorise an experience into a few memorable words.

Quieter and yet more quiet grew the sea, quiet as the soft mist that brooded on her bosom, and covered up her troubling, as the illusive wreaths of sleep brood upon a pain-racked mind, causing it to forget its sorrow.