Leave any mail for Harry here.

It wasn't like when Dick and Nix disappeared, or even when Doc or Luz had gone, but even so, Harry felt a certain pang of sadness when he received the news that Webster had vanished from the island. He might not have always got along with or come close to understanding the poor man, generally regarding him with a mixture of confusion and pity, but ( Read more... )

Harry had always been a scrapper. He couldn't help it; he had an impulsive nature and fists that moved too fast for his common sense to keep up with, tendencies which only got worse when he was drunk. And he was often drunk. Some people called it 'short man syndrome', and claimed that his temper was a means of compensating for a sense of ( Read more... )

A couple of weeks ago, Harry had been chatting with Zell about their respective home worlds (a subject that hadn't grown stale despite how long they'd known each other now), and Zell had asked him if he could fetch an atlas of Earth for him to look at. Harry had agreed, of course, but known that how fast he could make that happen depended on ( Read more... )

Over the past couple of years, Harry Welsh had had quite a few bad mornings. He'd slept in bombed-out city streets, in holes in the ground, in cold bare hospital beds with morphine apparitions chasing round his head, but none of them could hold a candle to this ( Read more... )