Drawing Breath at the National Trust Her voice carries. No full stops she is all conjunctions: 'but' and 'so' and 'yet' and 'and'. Sixty-five years of catching up to do chasing herself through unpunctuated sentences. And then the crows come to pick at crumbs from the cheese scone taken an age to eat, minor mouthfuls when she paused offering hair-line cracks for her companion’s feeble wedge of unfinished phrases. After she has finally been overwhelmed the crows will still be there hopping into the silent full stop of her no longer drawing breath.