What A Fortunate Fellow I Am, I

I Regard Each Sentence As A Little Wheel... Now And Again I Try To Put A Really Big One Next To A Very Small One In Such A Way That The Big One, Turning Slowly, Will Make The Small One Spin So Fast That It Hums. Very Tricky, That.

If You Are Good Life Is Good.

I Was Already Beginning To Realize That The Only Way To Conduct Oneself In A Situation Where Bombs Rained Down And Bullets Whizzed Past, Was To Accept The Dangers And All The Consequences As Calmly As Possible. Fretting And Sweating About It All Was Not Going To Help.

I Was Observing Her Closely As I Talked, And After A While I Began To Get The Impression That She Was Not, In Fact, Quite So Merry And Smiling A Girl As I Had Been Led To Believe At First. She Seemed To Be Coiled In Herself, As Though With A Secret She Was Jealously Guarding. The Deep-blue Eyes Moved Too Quickly About The Room, Never Settling Or Resting On One Thing For More Than A Moment; And Over All Her Face, Though So Faint That They Might Not Even Have Been There, Those Small Downward Lines Of Sorrow.

Of Course Not. You Can't Have A Family Hanging Over You Like A Bunch Of Old Dead Goats. No Offense.