Pastiche Stories

It was one of those languid summer afternoons so rare in England, when all one wants to do is to doze in the drowsy air, half drugged by the sweet scent of wild flowers, and lulled by the murmuring of the bees, busy in their task of gathering pollen. It was a time for pleasant daydreams of sensual pleasure, and Alice was lying half hidden in the long grass by the river bank, her reverie undisturbed by the lapping of the w...