More the end of a paragraph than the completion of a tale

The clean up's finished. I'm now allergic to the house and the furnishings and carpets within. This is why I never dust and keep cleaning things to a minimum. Still, it's done. The gentle redeposition of dust has, of course, already begun.

Big came home last night. He's asleep in a corner, having spent a lot of time wandering round in a confused manner: what is this rearrangement all about? why do we have new wall and no front windows? why does my sister have one bald front leg?

Apart from the piano, and replacing some of the officially written off furniture, the emergency part's over. Now we wait until the rebuilding starts. Not a prospect to be relished.

After a long spell of not finishing...

( more books consigned to the shelves that we currently don't have )