I knew that I had now fully recovered the use of my visual faculties—and yet it was dark—all dark—the intense and utter raylessness of the Night that endureth for evermore.
I am incapacitated by rheumatism and other ills.
The Queen Mother is a confessed, probably a proud, telephonophile. Recently, from London, she called Colin Stanley-Hill who, as you may have read about 600 times, once worked for her.
And to be honest, in the illustration Mr Tumnus does look as camp as fuck with his little scarf tied jauntily around his neck. I suppose it isn't outside the realms of possibility that he'd just been off cottaging with some centaurs in the forest. God.
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DiQt
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