I felt his heart. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast.
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