Flaxfield died on a Friday which was a shame, because he always ate a trout for dinner on Friday, and it was his favourite.
Look at the stars,” said Tim. “Don’t you ever wonder what they’re for?” The Night was an open book of constellations. “They’re for the same as everything else, “said Sam. They’re just for themselves.” The stars silently agreed.
Civilized nations build libraries; lands that have lost their soul close them down.
