Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. You are the High Priestess of Life. It looked as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption—a world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of women over-ruled as a matter of course. Both carried packages of books and magazines.
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