You — or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I — can’t get away anywhere from crime and criminality.
You — or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I — can’t get away anywhere from crime and criminality.
I was walking down a country lane in one of the most beautiful shires of England. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the lambs were gambolling in the fields, the trees were decked out in the tender green of spring, my dog was at my side: for a moment, I felt almost glad to be alive. Then I met the local magistrate, who was also out walking his dog.
When two men in their late fifties meet, their first talk is of the wickedness — the unprecedented wickedness — of youth (lament being the consolation of age).
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