That morning Trotsky was very much on his dignity and Retriever Games were not on his agenda. He stalked along the tide line, sniffing at the flotsam ...hrown up by the storm. I threw sticks for Magic to fetch but, in truth, he has never really got the hang of retrieving. He'd run off and grab the stick, bring it back to me and then plonk himself down on the shingly sand to chew it to death.The wind was still quite strong but at least the rain had stopped. It was bitterly cold. We walked for. It wasn’t surprising I suppose; I should expect a young woman that was home alone to lock the door behind her. It did present me with a few problems though.I rattled the door in frustration - should I actually break in? It did strike me as being sloppy. I had an amazing and undetectable power at my disposal; I shouldn’t leave any trace at my presence if I could help it. Not unless I wanted to for some reason anyway. I quickly checked the front door - locked as well - and returned to the back of. More

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