Seven nights from now, after a week of daily high temperatures of not less than 105 degrees, a crew of drug carriers bearing heavy backpacks will come through this pass under the bright beam of a quarter moon and find Alberto Fonseca lying crippled in an open patch of moonlight amid empty water bottles, prattling in hoarse unintelligible whispers like some becrazed wilderness prophet.

School boards have said that without the co-operation of teachers, there’s no way they can administer the tests, which teachers have dubbed “evil questions attacking Ontario.”

They send people to the shows in Milan for ideas, which means knocking off the designs they guess would sell.

On this occasion I said nothing, but concealing his poniard in my clothes, I hasted up the mountain, determined to execute my purpose […].