He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. "Come along, Blueskin. “What do you think of them?” Anna extended her critical survey and shrugged her shoulders.
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