| One Christmas was so much like another, in those years, around thesea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking ofthe voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can neverremember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I wastwelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when Iwas six; or whether the ice broke and the skating grocer vanished like asnowman through a white trap-door on that same Christmas Day that themince-pies finished Uncle Arnold and we tobogganed down the seawardhill, all the afternoon, on the best tea-tray, and Mrs. Griffiths complained,and we threw a snowball at her niece, and my hands burned so, with theheat and the cold, when I held them in front of the fire, that I cried fortwenty minutes and then had some jelly. |
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