I'm sure the Brunel-designed stone-built structure would have had a hatstand for his trademark stovepipe. I can picture him rocking up there of a morning and lobbing it nonchalantly onto the hatstand.
She did not believe that life was a bowl of cherries, and she never had.
Do not despair, Mr. Graves. Some day the clouds will roll away, and the sun, so long obnubilated, burst forth, for you, Mr. Graves, at last.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.
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