“In the dead hour the ghosts creep out of the bush and go howling across the dunes, screaming their unfinished business to the night. But I'm nothing to them so they ignore me.” — John Larkin Copy Share Image
Soon or late, every dog's master's memory becomes a graveyard; peopled by wistful little furry ghosts that creep back unbidden, at times, to a semblance of their olden lives. — Albert Payson Terhune Copy Share Image
