Intermezzo

The piano was unusual. It had lain undisturbed behind boxed cargo. The soiled tarpaulin told of a decade’s neglect. It would have remained undiscovered but for the highlanders’ committed quest for alcohol. Rab Niven lavished attention on it and, from unpromising beginnings, he brought it to life. ‘Gie us The Intermezzo Rab. You ken the wan.’ The small, malformed Glaswegian

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Watchman (with speech)

Since Atlanta, she had looked out the dining-car window with a delight almost physical. Over her breakfast coffee, she watched the last of Georgia’s hills recede and the red earth appear, and with it tin-roofed houses set in the middle of swept yards, and in the yards the inevitable verbena grew, surrounded by whitewashed tires. She grinned when she saw her

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