My tooth has gone. It didn't hurt, the injections sorted that out, so why was it that I held my breath, that my hands were clenched and my brow was sweaty.
Dentists in Britain? Farewell, Romantic poetry! The tooth's the avatar of the fang; the fang the daughter of the ancient spear; the spear the wych-elm's ancestral arrow. Ah, lust! Ah, novocaine! Robert Paul reed.edu ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html