They were just like Jim and Tommy and May in these days.
The stories are a soft landing spot for your mind.
She was not any taller than the dolls around her, and looked uncommonly like the prettiest, pinkest-cheeked, yellowest-haired ones; so it was no wonder that Peter did not see her at first.
There was not a boy in the country but looked upon this position as the height of human felicity.
The Prima Donna stood with her song in hand, and the first court fiddler had his bow raised all ready to play the accompaniment for her.
It's there, in the caldera of a supervolcano at the edge of the tundra, he suspects many of the answers he so desperately needs might be hidden.
Standing unstable on the island, she tries to come to terms with the addiction that has swallowed the last decade of her life.
The Christmas Monks always retained Peter in their employ—in fact he is in their employ to this day.