That “ning-nong of an MP” as Billy Lane calls him, Fred Brentnall, in his squeaky lorikeet voice reads to the House Lawson′s last two stanzas, just to highlight the danger besetting the colony of Queensland, indeed, the whole country: […]
But yet; like, finding his like: it expelleth that like: say you still: and this is the faburden of your song.
If I drive without such a device, I am doing something wrong despite the indiscernability of the harm occasioned by the emissions from my car in particular.
She wakened in sharp panic, bewildered by the grotesquerie of some half-remembered dream in contrast with the harshness of inclement fact, drowsily realising that since she had fallen asleep it had come on to rain smartly out of a shrouded sky.
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