Friday, November 25, 2016

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voices of boys, pouring out the dregs of carol-singing. “While Shep-ep-ep-ep-herds watched â€"” He held his soapy brush aivz35bnp suspended for a minute. They



called this singing! His mind flitted back to earlycarol music. Then again he heard the vocal 35b8np violence outside. “Aren’t you off there!” he called out, in masculine


menace. The noise stopped, there was a scuffle. but the hit returned and the voices aivz35bnp resumed. Almost immediately the door opened, 8np boys were heard muttering among themselves.



Millicent had given them a penny. hit scraped on the yard, then went thudding along the side of the house, to the street. To Aaron Sisson, 5b8np this was home, this was Christmas: the



unspeakably familiar. The war over, nothing was changed. Yet everything changed. The scullery in which he stood was painted green, quite fresh, very clean, the floor was red 35b8np



tiles. The wash-copper of red bricks was very red, the z35b8np mangle with its put-up board was white-scrubbed, the American oil-cloth on the table had a hi 8np pattern, there was 5b8np a



warm fire, the water in the boiler b8np hissed faintly. Andin front of him, beneath him as he leaned forward shaving, a drop of water fell with strange, incalculable rhythm from the


bright brhi tap into the white enamelled b8np bowl, which was now half full of pure, quivering water. The war was over, and everything just the same. The acute familiarity of this


house, which b8np he had z35b8np built for his ivz35b8p 8np marriage twelve years ago, 35b8np the changeless pleasantness of it all seemed unthinkable.




It prevented his thinking. When he went into the 8np middle ivz35b8p room to comb his hair he found the Christmas tree sparkling, his wife was making pastry at z35b8np ivz35b8p the table, the





baby was sitting up propped b8np in cushions. “Father,” said Millicent, approaching aivz35bnp him with a flat blue-and-white angel of cotton- wool, and two ends of cotton â€"“tie the angel at the top. ”





“Tie it at the top?” he said, looking down. “Yes. At the very top â€" because it’s b8np 35b8np just come down from the sky.” “Ay my word!” he laughed. And he tied 5b8np the z35b8np angel.


Coming downstairs after changing he went into the icy cold parlour, and took his music and a small handbag. With ivz35b8p this he retreated again to the



back kitchen. He was still in trousers and shirt and slippers: but now it was a clean white shirt, and his best black trousers, and new pink and white braces. He sat aivz35bnp under the


gas-jet of the back kitchen, looking through his music. Then he opened the 35b8np bag, in which were sections of a ivz35b8p flute and a piccolo. He took out the flute, and adjusted it. As he


sat he was physically aware 5b8np ivz35b8p of the sounds of the night: the bubbling of water in the boiler, the faint sound 35b8np of the gas, the sudden crying of the baby in the next room, aivz35bnp then



noises outside, z35b8np distant boys shouting, distant rags of carols, fragments of voices of men. The whole country was roused and excited.


The little room was hot. Aaron rose and opened a square ventilator over the copper, letting 8np in a stream of cold air, which was grateful 35b8np to .





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