The Ellsworths of Long Parkmead had the regard of their neighbors in every respect. The Honorable Charles Ellsworth, though a second son, through the generosity of his father, had been entrusted with an estate in the neighborhood of Dorchester. It was well-appointed and used only enough glamour to enhance its natural grace, without overlaying so much illusion as to be tasteless. His only regret, for the estate was a fine one, was that it was entailed and, as he had only two daughters, the estate would to pass to his elder brother's son upon his death. Knowing that, he took pains to set aside some of the income each annum for the provision of his daughters.

The sum was not so large as he wished it might be, but he hoped it would prove enough to attract appropriate husbands for his daughters. Of his younger daughter, Melody, he had no concerns, for she had a face made for fortune. His older daughter, Jane, made up for her deficit of beauty with rare taste and talent in the womanly arts. Her skills at glamour, music and painting were surpassed by none in their neighborhood and lent their home a sense of wealth far beyond their means. But he knew well how fickle young men's hearts were.

Eleanor Louise Jackson stood inside the plain steel box of the time machine. It was about the size of an outhouse, but without a bench or windows. She clutched her cane with one hand and her handbag with the other. It felt like the scan was taking far too long, but she was fairly certain that was her nerves talking.

The front door of the manor house flung open. In a flurry of crepe chiffon, Lucy Rhodes hurried down the stairs. "Ginger, darling! Thank heavens you've come." Even in the daylight, circles of fear rippled through her aura.

Kahe peeked over the edge of the earthen trench as his tribe's retreating warriors broke from the bamboo grove onto the lava field. The tribesmen showed every sign of panicked flight in front of the advancing Ouvallese. Spears and shields dropped to the ground as they tucked in their arms and ran.

The afternoon sun angled across the scarred wood counter despite the bamboo shade Elise had lowered. She grimaced and picked up the steel chef's knife, trying to keep the reflection in the blade angled away so it wouldn't trigger a hallucination.

I was never one of those girls who fell in love with horses. For one thing, on our part of New Oregon they were largely impractical animals. Most of the countryside consisted of forests attached to sheer hills and you wanted to ride something with a little more clinging ability. So from the time I was, well, from the time I can remember I wanted a teddy bear spider more than I wanted to breathe.

The sun peeking through the grapevines felt hotter on Bharat Mundari's neck than twenty-four degrees. Another perfect day. Bharat scowled and worked his way down the row of vines, thinning the grapes so the remaining Shiraz crop would become fuller and riper.

My dearest Lily,
Forgive me. I would be with you now, rather than closeted in my study, but I do not wish you or our children to witness my demise. I love you. I tell you now, so that you will know that my last thought was of you.

His keys dropped, rattling on the parquet floor. Julius stared at them, unwilling to look at the bandaged stump where his left hand had been two weeks ago. He should be used to it by now. He should not still be trying to pass things from his right hand to his left.

Josie Langdon leaned back from her microscope and rolled her neck to ease the kinks. After days spent staring at slides, her eyes strained to refocus on the university lab around her.

The moment Tuyet walked into the Dagenais's compartment, she knew something was different. The usual pack of dogs swarmed around her, distracting her, before she figured out that the compartment smelled different.

Sliding his hands over the clay, Sly relished the moisture oozing around his fingers. The clay matted down the hair on the back of his hands making them look almost human. He turned the potter's wheel with his prehensile feet as he shaped the vase. Pinching the clay between his fingers he lifted the wall of the vase, spinning it higher.

The Doctor adjusted the celery in his lapel and stepped out of the TARDIS onto Kampa Island, nestled under the Charles Bridge. He inhaled with appreciation. "Ah, Prague."

As the warrior guided his horse back home, Sybille pondered what the future might hold. She brushed a strand of her golden hair, still sweat-damp, back from her face. Tracing a path to her belly, her hand came to rest above her womb.
If his seed failed to quicken, her cuckoldry would be for nothing.

As the ventilator pushed air into his lungs, Samuel savored the brine from the sea. He pretended that he controlled his breath, but that was as much a fantasy as adjusting his wheelchair. He'd lost his last voluntary ability to Amyotropic Lateral Sclerosis a year ago.

His keys dropped, rattling on the parquet floor. Julius stared at them, unwilling to look at the bandaged stump where his left hand had been two weeks ago. He should be used to it by now. He should not still be trying to pass things from his right hand to his left.

Aage Llievang tried explaining to his mother, but she shook her head. "Now, Aage. Really. Your own car? A car? What would the other co-op members think?"
"Mom, this is a classic! 1952 MG-TD. It's even"
"'British Racing green' yes, Aage. I know. Your father knows. Your grandmother knows. We all know about the car."

Grete snipped a diseased branch off her Sunset-Glory rosebush like she was a body harvester looking for the perfect part. Behind the drone of the garden's humidifiers, she caught a woosh-snick as the airlock door opened. Her boyfriend barreled around Mom's prize Emperor artichoke. Something was wrong. His soil-dark skin had faded to the color of ash.

Light dappled through the trees in the family courtyard, painting shadows on the paving stones. Li Reiko knelt by her son to look at his scraped knee.
"I just scratched it." Nawi squirmed under her hands.
Her daughter, Aya, leaned over her shoulder studying the healing. "Maybe Mama will show you her armor after she heals you."

Tom bounced with the music that blared on the art studio's CD player, trying to use its rhythm to stay awake. Pulling all-nighters gave him a certain masochistic joy, but he had passed the point of diminishing returns two hours ago.

As the warrior guided his horse back home, she pondered what the future might hold. Sybille brushed a strand of her golden hair, still sweat-damp, back from her face. Tracing a path to her belly, her hand came to rest above her womb.
If his seed failed to quicken, her cuckoldry would be for nothing.

I was born Rosa Carlotta Silvana Grisanti, but in the mid-Eighties, I legally changed my name to Eve. As you have guessed in your letter, after the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland, my dear friends Dr. Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes suggested that my safest course of action would be to distance myself from my family.

"Why are you always so cynical?" Celia asked, as her husband came through the door and headed for the toaster-oven again. She could not help laughing a little while Lou tried to balance his bagel, a cup of coffee and make sure that he had turned the toaster-oven off. Turning back to the cupboards, she set their son's Cat in the Hat bowl on the table.

The clockwork chickadee was not as pretty as the nightingale. But she did not mind. She pecked the floor when she was wound, looking for invisible bugs. And when she was not wound, she cocked her head and glared at the sparrow, whom she loathed with every tooth on every gear in her pressed-tin body.

The sparrow could fly.

Lifting the stopper from the vial to his nose, Penn inhaled slowly. Against the neutral backdrop of his ship's clean room, he picked out aromas of quince, elderberry, bright Martian soil that hinted of blood, with undercurrents of cinnamon and Zeta Epsilon's fragrantly sweet longgrass. He sighed, blowing the scents out again. The perfume was still out of balance.