Beverly Rycroft

Shame lurks in the pockets of the mind (or spirit), like lint. No matter how brave a face you put on things _ and believe me, I did _ you always have to face yourself in the end.

This is what I find so strange: we are not necessarily kind to animals. We use them, we eat them. But we don__ like them to suffer. Yet humans must. They have to wait for the great Vet himself to decide how long their anguish must last and how deep it must reach. And He has, as far as I can see, a habit of waiting a long, long time before deciding to end their misery.

I__l tell you what I don__ believe, Alwyn. I don__ believe there__ a pretty forest in the sky with castles and a white light and God and all his angels waiting to welcome all the good people in. And you and me standing there sick with nerves while they check us out to see if we__e made the grade. That sounds too much like immigrating to Australia.