She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. Spurling. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. There it was—to be borrowed. "But, let that pass. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. Sebastian rose from the tomb. Let me take the satchel, sir.
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