I ask her about the dinner. She says she is not hungry.

‘You really should talk to him.’

My sweet — these nights in Abydos have been long and difficult.

Lust, mania, and mass psychogenic illness in ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’

it bores into you with a single murky eye. But you do not see.

Inch by inch, it tumbles across the floorboards and splits into tendrils

He snatched the letter and re-read it. Yes, it was done.

a vignette about two spies.

Lucy took her little daughter on a walk along a track by the sea, dotted with pines curved and battered by the seaward wind.

So close that she would feel her breath, Polina caught her whisper —

What is this devilish blossom? Who would create such a thing?

a vignette for the death of Virginia Woolf.