An all-but-unnoticed humming on the Island of the Uncommitted.
Is there some secret history I'm missing. The hokey-pokey, for instance. Right foot in, left foot out; shake it all about. St. Mary Murgatroyd. St. Mary Murgatroyd again. Would skiing be such a strenuous exercise if we were all very small.
I trace a continental divide, I confess a mapmaker's fetish, with my eighth finger I part that ocean. Stinking mudflats at dawn. I did not think to bring a theosophical treatise.
Have you any canned milk.
In its domestic form, an autoharp. A ball of yarn, a small dish of potpourri, a plaster figurine. This is my archaeological inquiry, this is the origin of a classical disposition. If you had a lifetime for boardgames which one would you sooner play.