Nature journal

The beauty of the world.

by Lindbergh Lindbergh on March 14, 2014 No comments

I did not answer, but instead reached to my side and pressed the little fingers of her I loved where they clung to me for support, and then, in unbroken silence, we sped over the yellow, moonlit moss; each of us occupied with his own thoughts. For my part I could not be other than joyful had I tried, with Dejah Thoris‘ warm body pressed close to mine, and with all our unpassed danger my heart was singing as gaily as though we were already entering the gates of Helium.

But then, birds just fly high

by Lindbergh Lindbergh on November 14, 2013 No comments

The artilleryman agreed with me that the house was no place to stay in. He proposed, he said, to make his way Londonward, and thence rejoin his battery–No. 12, of the Horse Artillery. My plan was to return at once to Leatherhead