They are not your children, they never were. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. " "Come, jump up," cried Blueskin, mounting his steed, "and I'll soon wisk you to town. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair.
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