For six months she had loved him blindly and now, opening her eyes.
Deeper and deeper he went. his eyes were open, and he watched the ghostly, phosphorescent trails of the darting bonita
His family could only cry and watch this expert marksman twist and writhe in his death agonies
Until recently america turned a blind eye : better the general you know than the deep green sea of jihadism
Every afternoon about four - thirty, he would sit in the front yard with his beautiful eyes staring steadfastly at the path, and as soon as he heard my voice or saw me swinging my dinner pail through the buck brush, he was off like a shot, racing breathlessly up the hill to greet me with leaps of joy and barks of sheer ecstasy