A lyrebird strolled past me on its large feet, among the granite boulders.

It'll play hob with my sleep schedule but I suppose it can't be helped. Please let the house elves know that if I ask for an early breakfast at, say, three A.M. tomorrow morning, I'm to receive it.

[…] there were hastily produced B movies, such as the peplums, the spaghetti westerns, the detective stories, the horrors.

And when they are gone, they are gone for good. There is no way to unwind that spring. To unsee what has been seen. To unfeel what has been felt.