Two people, thought to be intimate and amorous, could despise each other in private, each thinking the other as the consummate tyrant.
The spontaneous intermittence of cited historical fact with compelling fictional narratives makes you wonder what kind of stories are being told in the bardo of your local graveyard (if only they could!).
All we know for certain is that no one relinquishes immortality, and no one resists their fate. All we can ask is why.
I suppose the reader could be content with the humor between the covers, but without that, I’d choose death by rusty fork.
He reflected on the reality being that a series of scribbles on clay was all it took to get away with murder.
We did feel as if it were the end of days as the sky grew dark and the willows wavered in the gentle, eerie September breeze.
It’s not as though that there’s been a pattern of miscommunications between linguistics and the public, but rather a lack of attempts to bridge the gap between Ivory Tower-knowledge and the misguided assumptions of non-experts.