It is 1939 and we are tired
Lies, Damn Lies
Six rechargeable batteries, one not in line
Who sleep and wake, who murder and intrigue
What Innocence? What Guilt? Are they my fingermarks?
The hand that rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket
Well he would say that, wouldn't he?
Forever is shorter than you think
Perhaps, there is always an alternative, as there is always dying
First you need to know the gradient, then...
Twenty boxes of past its sell-by date coffee
You could use the books
Beautiful boys with bright red guitars
Prize poet lost for words
Above the baking tits of St Tropez
I only met her once, at Cliveden
The guitarist's writer-wife
Pills to brighten up your day
Lord Miles is caught up in something fishy