Perhaps It Would Really Be

It Came To Me That Hyde Park Has Never Belonged To London - That It Has Always Been , In Spirit, A Stretch Of Countryside; And That It Links The Londons Of All Periods Together Most Magically - By Remaining Forever Unchanged At The Heart Of A Ever-changing Town.

There Was A Wonderful Atmosphere Of Gentle Age, A Smell Of Flowers And Beeswax, Sweet Yet Faintly Sour And Musty; A Smell That Makes You Feel Very Tender Towards The Past.

People's Clothes Ought To Be Buried With Them.

They Call Them The Haunted Shores, These Stretches Of Devonshire And Cornwall And Ireland Which Rear Up Against The Westward Ocean. Mists Gather Here, And Sea Fog, And Eerie Stories. That's Not Because There Are More Ghosts Here Than In Other Places, Mind You. It's Just That People Who Live Hereabouts Are Strangely Aware Of Them.

Ah, But You're The Insidious Type--jane Eyre With Of Touch Of Becky Sharp. A Thoroughly Dangerous Girl.