 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Nobby used to enjoy his Wednesday afternoon clifftop picnics
with Father Twelvetrees.
They tended to partake of more than a little Holy Water and
each would eventually drift off into their own worlds, the
pastor characteristically dangling his legs over the
precipice.
How Nobby missed those times now.
