I gave this oaf a hundred years to come to his senses in the third generation.
It was an insufficient period. The iron ran out and he still foraged—a ghost rummaging in the raped premises of his great-great-grandchildren.
Go rue the deserts man's already made!
Paul didn't come.
I read some poetry I could not understand in Harper's.
I got out the medical book on cancer and looked at throats for a while.
I took the Gideon Bible from the bureau drawer and read the Thirteenth Chapter of First Corinthians.
Then Psalms, awhile.
Then Luke, awhile.
I went into my bathroom and swallowed one of Tom's capsules.