Irish Gardens Beat All For Horror. With

The Test Of A Cook Is How She Boils An Egg. My Boiled Eggs Are Fantastic, Fabulous. Sometimes As Hard As A 100 Carat Diamond, Or Again Soft As A Feather Bed, Or Running Like A Cooling Stream, They Can Also Burst Like Fireworks From Their Shells And Take On The Look And Rubbery Texture Of A Baby Octopus. Never A Dull Egg, With Me.

I Do Love Translating; It Is The Pure Pleasure Of Writing Without The Misery Of Inventing.

Spring Came Late, But When It Came It Was Hand-in-hand With Summer, And Almost At Once Everything Was Baking And Warm, And In The Villages The People Danced Every Night On Concrete Dancing Floors Under The Plane Trees.

I Think Housework Is Far More Tiring And Frightening Than Hunting Is, No Comparison, And Yet After Hunting We Had Eggs For Tea And Were Made To Rest For Hours, But After Housework People Expect One To Go On Just As If Nothing Special Had Happened.

Life Itself, She Thought, As She Went Upstairs To Dress For Dinner, Was Stranger Than Dreams And Far, Far More Disordered.