A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Had he but known it, his outburst had done him no harm in the major’s eyes. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. ” “To bad rubbish. I have been around them for long enough. I am yours for the making over. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages.
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