For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

   Waiting alone in the study, by the fiercely-staring portrait she so loathed, with the perilous rank odour of decay wafting in from outside, Simon-Dorothy, even lovelier — if possible — in her grief, thought once more of Fulsome ‘Sneaky Legs’ Dahley, the man she had belonged to so completely. He was now, according to the gypsy woman, seeking a new life as a Foreign Legionnaire.
   At that moment came the thud of fists, a muffled cry, fighting on the stairway, and she instinctively checked her fingernails. He was here! “I’ve thought of you every minute I’ve been away, you remarkable Lolita, you!” he said.
   Abruptly, the horror of these last months vanished in a blaze of joy, and as he dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief she herself had made for him, she woke up. Incredibly enough, it had all been a dream.

We entreat you to read more, if you so desire
Return to a familiar clime Your next carriage awaits