

Patrick's LetterLes Deux Fauconx Carseille, SeptemberPatrick's Letter
Dearest mother,
As the north wind begins to chance its way this far down the Continent I am caught up with thoughts of home. The breeze induces in me an overpowering nostalgia, reminding me of the English Autumntide that I miss so dearly. Spain knew little of the London cold and South France is barely more susceptible.
I apologise for my brief discourse as I know only too well how you have been fretting for my next letter following the last. But steady yourself now for I must warn you that you may not find its next contents to your liking.
The n


Finding AlexanderThe new Monday was grey but the dour-faced young gentleman could have easily put the weather down as grandly sympathetic to his situation. He ignored the Spring cold that set in misty droves around him with its mist and faint spitting rain in the morning gloom. With no wind to push the grey away barely a newly-budded leaf moved save for the jogging of a constant stream of droplets falling from the gargoyle nearby that made the bough spring steadily this way and that.Finding Alexander
The woodpile was not the most comfortable place for the young man to sit. His short legs were pulled up to his chest in an infantile way with the heels of his
Devious Comments
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...human junk just words and so much skin...
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