Today the muse kissed me early in the morning and quite fittingly I’ve just seen my hero return home in the wee hours of the morning:
Perhaps it was due to the punch, for just like it, Lady Worthington’s musicale seemed to grow on a man, and Fox liked the second part much better than the first. So much did he enjoy himself that he drove home whistling madly as if to compete with the now absent sparrows on the rooftops. A myriad of stars glittered in the nightly sky, a diamond-besprinkled coat for the new moon. Pale like a maiden’s breast, her thin crescent peeked shyly out from behind a flock of clouds.