It was when his heart most swelled with the desire to sing that Rudgar would remember that he was an elephant.
The first thing anyone (including the bus driver) noticed about Jerome was that he was so very unremarkable and indeed nearly invisible; this was what had caused the unfortunate accident which ensured that it would also be the last thing anyone noticed about poor Jerome.
The villainous Dr. Vandertramp was in a luxurious changing room at a very upper-class clothing store. He had three tailored suits in with him and a pushy Italian tailor outside the door, and a cold sweat was beginning to form at his greying temples. He had been on both ends of heists, air raids, and unfair fights, and nothing got to him quite like clothes shopping did.
Norton was a writer, and a very good one, at least in a mechanical sense. He put words together beautifully, and could evoke scenes and feelings in his readers in a way that was unique to him. But Norton had no stories to tell, and he was losing the ability to convince his readers otherwise.
He decided to buy a ski mask and an unregistered gun and do some "research", at the end of which he realized he was a born carjacker and gave up writing altogether to pursue a full-time life of crime.
Boris and Ashley had spoken aimlessly for a while, but both felt the conversation moving to a more serious mood. At least, both thought so- it was hard to gauge these things over the phone. Finally, Boris got tired of beating around the bush and said what he was thinking: "Do you feel like there's something in the way of our relationship?"
She thought for a moment, but only for effect. "The distance doesn't help," she said. "Or the fact that we're both so busy."
Boris thought. but did not say, Those are exactly the two things standing in the way of my relationship with Joan of Arc, too.
It was a compelling point, but Sherman waffled. He paced slowly around the room in indecision, a move calculated to irritate the other parties in the negotiation which ultimately took more energy than it was worth.
When he had begun his great journey, he had been nothing but an inexperienced boy with only the clothes on his back, a good heart, and the crumbled granola bar in his pocket. Twenty minutes later, he was sitting glumly at the bus stop, finishing in the last crumbs of his only food, and would soon (though he of course did not know it) leave his jacket on the bench when he got on the bus. At the end of his journey, his mother would be very upset to learn this particular fact– it was a nice jacket, and you can't just go around losing things like that.
Edgar's ears were not especially huge in the traditional sense- they did not occupy a large amount of his face's area or outmatch his other features, except in one regard: they were especially, even improbably, protuberant. For such a pair of what appeared to be normally-sized ears, they had an amazing habit of hitting doorways and passersby as Edgar walked. Birds perched on them from time to time, and when he ran particularly fast, Edgar could feel that they gave him substantial lift.
It wasn't that 3-chin Geribald (an outdated nickname that underestimated him by one chin) didn't want the cake. He coveted it with a rapt devotion as the guards led him down the hall, the warden carrying the cake in the procession before them, Geribald's ankle cuffs chafing his skin and making him waddle. It wasn't that he didn't want it, it was just that he didn't want everyone to see how badly he wanted it.