Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. That is what my mother used to call me. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. Wood, at the top of her voice. Quite right.
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