The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. Ah, Thierry and Poussaint, if my memory serves me.
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