I’m not a natural killer! See this? See what it says? I’m supposed to keep the peace, I am! If I kill people to do it, I’m reading the wrong manual!
No-one likes being told it’s their lucky day. That sort of thing does not bode well. When someone tells you it’s your lucky day, something bad is about to happen.
And then there was the much spoken of lock-up. It looked like a giant pepperpot built of stone. A flowering creeper grew up it, and, next to the door and restrained by a chain, there was an enormous pig. When it saw their approach it got on its hind legs, and, tottering somewhat, begged.
“This is Masher,” said Feeney. “His father was a wild boar, his mother was surprised.
On the Kite, the situation was being ‘workshopped’. This is the means by which people who don’t know anything get together to pool their ignorance.
She taught me so much, she said to herself. She built me as we were walking around after the sheep, and she told me all those things that I needed to know, and the first thing was to look after people. Of course, the other thing had been to look after the sheep.
All he had was nothing, but that was something, and now it had been taken away.
But too much reading had taken its toll. William found that he now thought of prayer as a sophisticated way of pleading with thunderstorms.
The three thieves looked around. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they received a general impression of armourality, with strong overtones of helmetness.
Silk stockings. With garters. Well, they were out. There were a lot of things he’d do for Sybil, but if garters figured anywhere in the relationship they weren’t going to be on him.
What we’re going to do is keep the peace. That’s our job. We’re not going to be heroes, we’re just going to be … normal.