The flock, ripe with the lanolin-greasy smell of wool and dung, cluttered together in the usual half-stunned confusion, doing nothing to raise the image of the ovine species up from the basement in terms of relative intelligence within the animal kingdom. And as he idled there, rolling slowly into the flock, he knew beyond certainty that this image would be his legacy of the trip.
Back Page: The Abuse of Cliche
Back Page: The Abuse of Cliche