He Grunted; She Recognized It As Relief

What Was She To Say? "the Prodigal Has Returned? The Mutineer Wishes To Be Reinstated? The Subordinate, Having Gone To A Great Deal Of Trouble To Prove Her Commander Wrong, Has Come Back And Promises To Be A Good Little Subordinate Hereafter, Or At Least Until Next Time?

Mice Are Terribly Chatty. They Will Chat About Anything, And If There Is Nothing To Chat About, They Will Chat About Having Nothing To Chat About. Compared To Mice, Robins Are Reserved.

My Books Happen. They Tend To Blast In From Nowhere, Seize Me By The Throat, And Howl 'write Me! Write Me Now!' But They Rarely Stand Still Long Enough For Me To See What And Who They Are, Before They Hurtle Away Again. And So I Spend A Lot Of Time Running After Them, Like A Thrown Rider After An Escaped Horse, Saying 'wait For Me! Wait For Me!' And Waving My Notebook In The Air.

He Grunted; She Recognized It As Relief That She Wasn't Going To Nag Him Further About Tor The Just, Who Probably Wasn't That Boring If He Could Hold Off The Notherners For Nine Days And Melt A Hole In The Hills.

Tiny Fists Can Hurt Quite A Lot When They Hit You In The Face.