Casting my eyes about, I beheld no living object; but was sensible of a very peculiar stirring far below me, amongst the whispering rushes of the pestilential swamp I had lately quitted.

The king parrot is a magnificent bird, and the clear blue of a Melbourne spring day sets them off perfectly.

Rod was my home slice. He and I rolled up scumbags together for two years in SWAT. I loved that guy.

… of a dehumanizing bestiality comes in the off-hand aside that types the Kalahari Bushman as an animalistically undisciplined alien [which] speaks for an emotively entrenched scale of prejudice defined around the stigma of subhumanness.