Mounted on the wall was an antique bicycle wheel, rust eating through the chrome, the tread on the tire worn to a shiny black. “Xeni’s.” Mother returned, carrying a tray. “She races. Apparently that wheel was on some bike that won Omeo’s Climb, back who knows when.” She put...
A most cleanly, bright-coloured, foreign-looking street, is that long straggling one which runs up the hill towards Penalva Court: only remark, that this cleanliness is gained by making the gutter194 in the middle street the common sewer195 of the town, and tread clear of cabbage-leaves, ...