They cut into the mattress with a Stanley knife and then ripped the tear asunder with their bare hands. Feathers puffed into the air, skeletal springs were exposed and the mattress would never feel the warmth of two bodies lie against its quilted surface again. Under cover of darkness they slipped down the garden to the bank of the river and rowed away, their rucksacks heavy with the wads of money that they had found beneath the feathers, between the springs. The gift of all travel was theirs at last, and with it the gift of all tongues.
A wild slim alien 