Gill McKnight ír

In her opinion the only curiously jarring note was the Bosch triptych of The Garden of Earthy Delights hanging over Marie's desk.

It seemed like good manners to put Claude’s keys back under the visor. Despite his truck having a passenger door missing, no sunroof, and being littered with broken glass.

“Beware false prophets who come amongst you in sheep’s clothing, for inwardly they are ravening wolves.”

“Why can’t I stay with you? After all-”
“No arguments, Amy. I’m taking you to your cabin.”
“But why-”
“Nope.”
“But when-”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t-”
“Nope.”
“Rhymes with rope?”
“Nop- Ha ha. Very funny.”

There’s a bear out there. I know there is. I don’t care what Leone says, there’s a big, hungry bear, and he’s got my scent. Eau de poopoopants--

Connie was already a recognized wildlife artist, and Amy’s English father was as famed for his abstracts as he was for his drinking. Both her parents preferred to view reality through the bottom of a rose-tinted bourbon glass.

“Will you be okay getting back home? You know not to leave the path or talk to strangers?” She smiled syrup sweet.
“Very funny. But now that I’ve delivered grandma to her cottage I’ll try to get back without being eaten by the big, bad wolf,”

“I love soffits and spandrels.” Soffits and spandrels were the only architectural terms Leone knew, apart from door. But it was worth a try.