I...I went over to Orson's to ask him to get you off my back, and the poor sap, he...he'd written the whole sordid tale down and left it right there on the table.
Sylvie's bare feet and tiny fingers grabbed the tree's rough trunk. Sharp dry branches scratched at her like cat's claws. The pine tree's sticky sap made her fingers feel stiff and clumsy as she climbed higher and higher.