Without my arm prompting him to place one foot in front of the other, Brian would be standing here motionless, eyes wide. We are stopped in front of a portrait of a woman. Her hair is blonde and fine, painted in painstaking detail in the Flemish tradition. “She's a pretty girl,” says Brian. His free hand travels toward his crotch but I swat it away. I stop us in front of a Van Gogh. The hypergreen leaves at the base of the iris thrive and threaten. The grass is electrified, jutting upwards ...

He and his clever staff of minor blackguards exploited to the full every weakness and caries in the London Society of the 'eighties, 'nineties, and 'oughts.

I went over to the other bed and lay down. My knees were hanging over the side of the bed, providing me with a fairly decent back stretch. With my eyes closed, I could hear sleep calling.

The laptop ad that first showed an IT team with a problem and then showed FooCorp as the solution used emotional pivot as its dramatic structure.