Memory Is A Cruel Mistress

Gerry?' Laurel Had To Strain To Hear Thought The Noise On The Other End Of The Line. 'gerry? Where Are You?' 'london. A Phone Booth On Fleet Street.' 'the City Still Has Working Phone Booths?' 'it Would Appear So. Unless This Is The Tardis, In Which Case I'm In Serious Trouble.

But Happiness ... Happiness Grows At Our Own Firesides," She Said. "it Is Not To Be Picked In Strangers' Gardens." ~ The House At Riverton

Better To Lose Oneself In Action Than To Wither In Despair.

Ah, Well. Life's Too Short For Moderation, Wouldn't You Say?

She Felt Like A Fictional Character Who'd Escaped The Book In Which Her Creator Had Carefully And Kindly Trapped Her, Taken A Pair Of Scissors To Her Outline And Leaped, Free.