The only people who are not in awe of Emerson’s powerful voice and well-nigh superhuman strength are the members of his own family. He is aware of this, and often complains about it; so from time to time I like to put on a little show of being intimidated. ‘Proceed, my dear,’ I said apologetically.
I had refused Emerson’s well-meant offers of assistance, knowing his efforts would be confined to moving the furniture to the wrong places and demanding how much longer the process would take.
I don’t think she realized how much she cared for him, or he for her, until the end. Hasn’t someone said a woman may be known by the men who love her enough to die for her? (If they haven’t, I claim the credit myself.)
I’ve been reading ghost stories ever since I could read. I’m immensely curious about ghosts and UFOs and all that stuff, but I’m a very hard-headed person.
Dogs can be made to feel guilty about anything, including the sins of their owners. Cats refuse to take the blame for anything – including their own sins.
In the silence I heard Bastet, who had retreated under the bed, carrying on a mumbling, profane monologue. (If you ask how I knew it was profane, I presume you have never owned a cat.)
