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“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. Your aunt liked the pheasant. He looked half at her and half at the sky. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. One day it was gone. Shocked and appalled, she brought her left knee up fast, ramming his testicles swiftly. ‘Many things he taught me. It was only when they came into a square that daylight had a positive quality. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent.
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