She was slowed down by the icy wind that punctuated itself in screams around houses and trees. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. He talked very little and rather absently.
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