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Secret Bread

User: silviya
Secret Bread
A Bullet-Headed Little Boy Of Eight Sat Astride Upon A Farmyard Gate,
Whistling And Beating Time With A Hazel-Switch. He Had Fastened His Belt
Round The Gate-Post And Was Using It As A Bridle, His Bare Knees Gripped
The Wooden Bar Under Him, And His Little Brass-Tipped Heels Flashed In
The Sun Like Spurs. It Was Saturday Morning, Which Meant No Lessons With
Parson Boase At The Vicarage, And A Fine Day In Late August, Which Meant
Escape From The Roof Of Cloom And The Tongue And Hand Of Its Mistress.
Ishmael Ruan, His Head Stuffed With The Myths And Histories With Which
The Parson Was Preparing Him For St. Renny Grammar School, Felt In The
Mood For High Adventures, And His Surroundings Were Romantic Enough To
Stir The Blood.

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Just joined, am told thrillers only to over 18 years. Who do I inform at my last birthday i am 80 years old?

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Kein Miniaturbild Entfernen Bitte wähle einen Grund aus Bitte gib die Stelle im Buch an. de de_DE