“I know what you are.”
I love that because it saves me breaking things
and the tree climbing that has become so fashionable lately but inconvenient
here in treeless Norfolk .
There’s sometimes a hopeful little smile too as though I was offering an invitation
to some Regency valetudinarian’s paradise of health, well-being and longevity. Not
so, of course; and these silly girls should stick to the Victorian pot-boilers
that at least acknowledged the existence of evil. There are many names for what we
are and many variations of how we survive, but what we truly, madly, always are
is thirsty.