‘The thing I love about fiction’, said Mr Woolf, over breakfast; the rustling of his newspapers providing familiar music to the meal, ‘is that it allows one to tell essential truths without concerning oneself with the particulars.’ He turned a page, having, apparently, said his peace. Emily Woolf, who was just seventeen but already –
Tag: Vashti Kashian-Smith
It’s a lake, this one; an oval of the finest Venetian silver-coated glass, framed in white and yellow gold, which twists and turns into the patterns of grass, leaves, delicate flower-stems topped with gemstones – petals – of every colour. An oasis, for his desert princess. The Persian Queen looks at it, for a moment,
