unearths some literary gems.
From Sister Beneath the Sheet, by Gillian Linscott:
He was in his early forties, brown hair just flecked with grey, a square, lined forehead and a jutting chin ending in a sharp ledge of a beard, like a cow-catcher on the front of an American railway engine.
“I, Jules Estevan, do solemnly swear that I spent the hours between seven o’clock and midnight last Wednesday insulting a friend about his poetry and drinking too much absinthe.”
“That’s a very long insult, Mr Estevan.”
“They were very bad poems, Miss Bray.”
I have achieved nothing so far towards ensuring the smooth transition to us of Topaz Brown's legacy, but I have acquired a pendant with a large opal, a set of underwear with ribbon and net trims and a kilo of cooked fish, since disposed of. This afternoon I visited the circus. It is now midnight and I am sitting in a magnolia tree. Hoping this finds you as it leaves me.