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Updated: May 6, 2025
For the Night-Wind already had a definite position in the mythology of the Old Mill House, and since Uncle Felix had taken to reading aloud certain fancy bits from the storicalnovul he was writing at the moment, it had acquired a new importance in their minds. These fancy bits were generally scenes of action in which the Night- Wind either dropped or rose unexpectedly.
He might have been a friendly Newfoundland dog that wore tail-coats and walked on his hind legs, for all they feared reprisals. He gave them a taste of his quality soon after his arrival. "No, children, it's impossible now. I'm busy over a scene of my storicalnovul. Ask your father." He growled it at them, frowning darkly. The parental heels had just that instant vanished round the door.
He explained the philosophy of authors to them in brutal sentences. "Leave me alone, you little botherations!" he cried. "I'm in the middle of a scene in a storicalnovul." It was disgraceful that a man could lose his temper so. "Leave me alone, or I'll ..." In the corner of the big nursery sofa there was sudden silence. It was a chilly evening in early spring.
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