I had an erotic dream last night.

The old professor put his hand to the hindpocket of his coat to search for the Homer, which was his vade-mecum, when the unfortunate empiric threw up the window and cried out, “Stop, stop, coachman, and There's a man here !” […]

THE leaf-storm was ended. The sky was washed clear of every cloud and hung blue and brilliant above a little clearing in the Great Wilderness.

“Fuck it,” I say flippantly. “I′ll chuck a sickie.” A mischievous grin works its way into her features. “Sounds brilliant,” she muses. “I′ve been trying to convince you to use up some of your sick leave for ages now. What an odd change of heart. Are you sure you are feeling normal?”