Sentence The Twohundredandsixtythird
Whatever the expergefacient that had awakened her from her deep Wintertide slumber, with less than twenty minutes to her deadline and no likelihood of a miracle which would slow down or stop the clock, Theresa was only too aware of the distinct lack of munificence in the number of minutes and seconds still available to her so, with barely a curious glance at the crèche which had mysteriously
appeared on the lawn outside her window, nor a moment's wonder at the strange people and animals milling around it – well, what she could see of them through the drifting snow, and the dazzling light from a star in the night sky – gritted her teeth, thought “what the fuck, if needs must,” and began to type.