“
Rot his black soul!" fumed Rupert. "The devil's in it now and no mistake. A horse, Fletcher, a horse!"
"Horse sir?"
"Burn it, would I want a cow? Horse, man, and quickly!
...more
”
― These Old Shades
― These Old Shades
“
Some writers aren't writers, they are mere escapees' and refugees' on an exile from the jungle of thoughts.
...more
”
―
―
