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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 6, 2007 13:53:53 GMT -5
'Mam!'
Another slap round the head. His mother huffed and stalked away, muttering to herself about company coming soon. Rubbing the back of his head ruefully, Seth returned to the kitchen. He'd been assigned drink duty for when company came. It was the usual chore - pour everyone their drinks, get them good and drunk, and keep his big mouth shut. Usually, it was the last bit that was most difficult, but he had his own reasons for trying to stay good and quiet today. Oione would be coming with her family, and then the two of them would be off on their cross-Europe trip to become Knights - and to find Etienne Grubennierre. He smirked into the heavy serving bowl he had been scrubbing and reached for a flannel.
'Master Silver, sir!'
A pint-sized House Elf with batlike ears and large brown eyes regarded him cautiously, twisting the corners of its tablecloth toga. Seth turned, wiping his hands on the flannel and frowning.
'Master Augustus says Master Silver is to bring out the port, sir! The company is come!'
He sighed, shooing the little thing to the sink with his foot.
'Wash the dishes, then, Swot, and have Tittup finish up the vegetables, will you? Mind he don't burn them.'
He snatched several glass bottles from a shelf, hurrying out toward the parlour, where Augustus's boastful voice floated down the corridor. By the sounds of it, Tom Wilkes had got into the brandy already, and Monsieur Mireault was asking for his port. Seth sped up a bit, swiping the hair from his eyes with his free hand and kicking open the door. They glanced up.
'Seth!' Wilkes looked overjoyed to see him, clutching a glass of brandy as though it was his lifeline and swaying on his feet a bit. 'I've got the grandest joke for ye, lad! I was jurst telling yeer mother, din't ye know?' The mater shifted uncomfortably from behind her glass, blushing pink and turning to engage Madam Mireault in a quiet conversation. Where was Oione? He hardly had the chance to look around before Augustus beckoned him over.
'Later, Tom,' he chuckled, but his smile was stiff. Augustus hated the holidays. 'C'mere, lad, have us some port, then. Mireault, port? That's it, lad, give us a bit more. Have a bit yeerself, hm?' The mater looked as though she was about to protest, but Seth was already sat in an empty armchair, pouring himself a glass. 'That's it, bit less, there, yeer only sixteen.' Augustus smiled indulgently, and Seth returned it, all thoughts of Grubennierre and speaking to Oione wiped from his mind. Augustus raised his glass.
'To our future Knights, hm? Oione and Seth! And may they make their families proud!'
There was the clink of glass on glass, and Seth swallowed his port.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 12, 2007 19:07:23 GMT -5
Oione Mireault was going to suffocate before even the blasted Knighthood would be bestowed upon her. Maybe that wouldn't be a bad way of escaping family duties (definitely a 100% successful method, actually), but on second thought getting killed by your own robe would be unbelievably humiliating, however that did not eliminate point A: she was going to die.
'I can't breathe in this' she gasped out, following her mother (who promptly ignored her whining) and furiously tugging at the ribbons on the behind of her dress. Moments like this made her wish he had been born as another boy of the Mireault family, at least you pranced around in idiotic bowties instead of passing out due to lack of oxygen. Her bother on her heels, was clearly having the time of his life watching her struggle with her gown. Good-for-nothing, heartless bastard. He should have been thankful that she only took a couple of hairs, because now she felt like scalping him.
'Merlin, I hate Christmas'
They entered and Oione excused herself to the bathroom as soon as she could. Seeking out Seth could wait, after all. Especially that she couldn't really think straight with her brain at the verge of popping out. It might have been a primitive and barbaric solution, not to mention her mother was going to disembowel her after they came home (which, to Oione's immense relief wasn't happening any time soon) but at least it worked. She took one more glance at her back in the bathroom mirror. OK, so it looks as if she encountered a Madam Malkin's Finest Robes-hungry werewolf but hey, no one was going to look at your back, right? When they try to entertain you with a boring conversation they look you in the eye.
Feeling a bit reassured by this last thought Oione strode out of the Rookwood's enormous bathroom and on to the hall where (from what she could hear) everyone was already enjoying their drinks.
'To our future Knights, hm? Oione and Seth! And may they make their families proud!' Oione quickly grabbed a random glass from the table and raised it with a smile that she hoped was just as sparkling as her dress. She caught a glimpse of Seth who had already emptied his glass in one swift motion. 'Hey, idiot boy' she said with a sort of Christmas time endearament.
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 12, 2007 19:44:55 GMT -5
'Stroppy cow,' Seth grumbled, but he smirked into his port before downing it in one. Tom Wilkes, laughing and red-faced and obviously well drunk, clapped him on the back in a great, fatherly gesture and offered a rather generous refill, Augustus eyes narrowed on him the whole time.
The mater frowned, her lips pulled into a thin line. She turned to Madam Mireault with a slight incline of the head, and said frostily, 'Shall we oversee the House Elves, dear? I do so worry they might muck things up again, especially with this one - ' she jerked her head in Seth's direction, just as he was gulping down a fantastic amount of port to encouragement from Tom Wilkes and a cold-looking man called Nott. ' - always lurking about the kitchen.' She laughed shrilly and threw more than a bit of brandy into her mouth with a toss of her glass. 'I thought we'd done it when we let him name then - Swot and Tittup, did you know? And I thought he couldn't be more vulgar....'
Seth grinned fully and raised his glass to Oione. Port with Augustus and Wilkes? It was unheard of. He felt as though he had been granted entry into a very private and elite sort of club, and it was a good feeling. Bit like the warmth of glass after continuous glass of port.....
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 12, 2007 20:08:54 GMT -5
'Nice try at being creative, you retarded Niffler' Oione retorted, now positively grinning as she walked up to Seth, dragging her heavy robe behind. However, no amount of distraction could make Oione forget about what she was here for. Tom Wilkes seemed to be enjoying himself already having downed a reasonable amount of port. Who knew, this could actually get interesting. In Vino Veritas was a proverb true enough.
Oione's eyes drifted to Amerelia Rookwood and she had to keep herself from smirking. That was exactly what she expected and the minute she nodded to Oione's mother, the girl inner smirk grew into a wolfish grin. Perfect
Unknown to the eyes of Augustus and Tom, Oione nudged Seth, shooting him a thoroughly annoyed glare, how could he pour everything that had alcohol in it down his throat on a moment like this? 'I'm not going to deal with your sorry drunken arse, so stay sober'
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 12, 2007 20:17:30 GMT -5
Touchè .' He smirked at her, setting down the glass and muttering a quick excuse to Augustus, who nodded briefly and returned to Nott and Wilkes, dismissing the two teenagers with a careless flick of his wrist. Seth stomped toward the door, albeit reluctantly, and gave his half-full glass a an apologetic glance before following out after his mother. By the looks of it, the mater and Mme Mireault had already made their way to the wine cabinet in the lady's parlour, though they would never have admitted to it. He chuckled to himself and tapped his foot impatiently. Checking up on the House Elves, indeed.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 12, 2007 20:54:25 GMT -5
Oione Mireault was counting under her breath. Luckily her poor grasp at Mathematics and Arithmacy did not include the very basics. However, to tell the truth it was more of a count down as the girl was trying to assess when it would be safe to follow. She glanced at her father, who looked deep in conversation with rather tipsy Tom Wilkes and Nott, whose stern features seemed to have softened due to port's heavenly influence. Augustus gave them his ( secretly long-awaited)dismissal and Oione slipped her hand under Seth's arm. A rather odd thing to do as things like that were in the girl's mind reserved for Cecil Marzel and Orion Lupin, but she needed to keep her elegance and suavity. An ungraceful Oione meant that she was up to something and was thoroughly paniced whereas now she could not allow herself on that. 'Shall we?' she said, giving him an award-winning smile and a tug on his sleeve to make him finally move. 'You promised to take me to the library' Oh God. She should have inveted a less pathetic line, albeit there was no time to think and all that Oione could hope for was that Seth would catch on and get what it really meant. Mentally she sighed, hope wasn't called the mother of all fools for nothing.
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 13, 2007 0:59:47 GMT -5
Seth led Oione down a long corridor, up three flights of stairs, and one more, rather rickety one, past two tapestries despicting equally gory scenes involving mishaps between trolls and wizards, a House-Elf bearing a pile of freshly-laundered sheets (no doubt for the guests), and finally to a worn, oak door. It was scratched and dented, and had tried to be polished many a time, but the door remained stubbornly beat-up looking, as though Seth had taken a hevay truncheon to it. He rapped the frame twice with his knuckles, for the lock refused to open without the performance of this ritual, and kicked his way through, pushing past a pile of books and clothes that blocked the doorway and skirting to the bed.
It was a dismal room, really. Not exactly small, but smaller than it might have been in such a house. His bed was of wrought-iron, peeling white paint, with an old blanket tossed carelessly across the top. The lone pillow remained lopsided, on the wrong end of the bed, with feathers poking out form every angle. His bookshelf was slowly coming apart, shelf by shelf, and Seth had no doubt his shoddy handiwork with Muggle nails would not hold up much longer.
A single, finger-smudged window rested exactly centre of the opposite wall, which was grey, as were the other walls in the room. Several posters of the Irish National team had been clumsily tacked to the wall with crumpled spellotape. Seth's room very much reflected his personality in the fact that it was obnoxious, messy, and a bit unexpected. Those who knew him from school would have expected the mess, of course, but the grey, the obvious attempts at bringing some colour to what, without the posters and bright comicbooks, was an ultimately drab and depressing bedroom. Amerelia Rookwood had decorated it, originally, with a navy blue blanket and matching curtains, grey walls, wood floor, and a navy rug by the bed. Over the years, Seth had tried to cover the wall with his Quidditch posters and torn-out pages from magazines, the Daily Prophet, and comic book pages (from his younger years). Marvin the Mad Muggle beamed down from just below the Ministry's most wanted list, which was taped next to a news article about a Purist Minister for Magic, a Death Eater rally, a poster of Harry Carnaugh of the Irish National, a photograph of Seth when he was eight, holding a dead lizard and laughing as the tail was pulled off again and again by his mother in an attempt to take the thing from his grimy hands.
He picked at the blanket a bit, mind pleasantly fogged from the port, and grinned at Oione. 'Room's not much changed since last time ye came. I still haven't painted the walls red. Mam won't buy it, not even a lovely shade of Nationalist green. Not a drop of paint on me feckin' walls, she told me. Like they're not already dying as it is.....' he trailed off in disgust, snorting at the pillow. 'C'mere - d'ye think Grubennierre knows anything about the Irish National? Has he met them, d'ye think? Could he have them meet me?'
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 17, 2007 17:13:57 GMT -5
Oione grinned at Seth's back as he led her through the Rookwood estate's many corridors, that made her confused and lost back then when she was a child.
Wow. She didn't exactly expact him to follow on, without having everything clearly explained. Maybe the brief lighting of brilliance the girl had witnessed in the school library came to stay for good. However, as she started to recongnize the way they were going her expression shifted. Oione almost regretted she hadn't took her glass of wine with her, maybe that would keep her from actually wanting to break his neck. Wasn't it obvious that she wanted to follow Amerelia and her mother so that they could evasdropp? Surely that didn't require that much brain power to comprehend.
So much for fucking Christmas.
And then, she was presented with Seth's room once again. It hadn't changed much, but it still was an immense improvement especially when Oione thought how his room looked when she first saw it. Of course, in comparison with her own room it resembled a prison cell, but the girl decided it wasn't really half bad now. She scanned the pictures, gathering last bits of patience (and Oione had never really been a patient person) and waiting for Seth to say something, hopefully something that would keep her from slaughtering him right there and then in the name of Christmas spirit. The girl's full lips became a thin line of dismay.
'I don't know.' Oione said venomously, as she leaned herself on the door. Merlin, her back was killing her. Stupid dress, stupid Seth, stupid port. 'Seth, why the hell did you bring me here? I wanted to follow them to the parlour, you moron'
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 19, 2007 14:44:50 GMT -5
Seth could not have looked more incredulous if he tried. Screwing up his face, he said loudly and without an ounce of abandon, 'Why the hell'd ye want to be doing that for? To listen to them whinging the whole time about fecking kids and husbands and woman shit?'
With a last, vengeful pluck at the sheets, he stood, straightening out lopsided posters and restacking books so that they didn't look much different when he was finished from when he started. Beneath the window were stacked rather haphazardly the set books for fifth year, the ones he would need when he went into sixth, and all of the set books he had ever used before, as the mater insisted they be saved, but offered no alternative place for them. The window itself looked out onto a vast field of rolling green, a sight much despised by Seth, for it always seemed to be there, mocking him, when he was in locked away in his room for some vague crime or other. He peered out of the window now, brushing aside the grey curtains carelessly.
'Perfect weather for flying,' remarked Seth mournfully. He tore furiously at a spare leaf of parchment which had been resting atop a Transfiguration book from third year, punctuating each word with a large, resounding rip of the paper. 'What's the bloody use of having a bloody rich father with a bloody broomstick factory if they won't let you out to fly, or meet the Irish National, or anything?' He rounded on Oione now, jaw set tightly. A familiar expression was back in Seth's eyes, and one who knew him could guess immediately that he was thinking hard about something. 'What if he chucks us out on our feckin' arses, then? Right out of the feckin' house on our feckin' arses, or calls me feckin' mam, or Augustus and they come to the feckin' house and take us back to this feckin' shithole? Bloody feck!'
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 20, 2007 18:41:29 GMT -5
That was exactly why she hated spending the Winter holidays at home and therefore visiting the Rookwoods'. At school, where you didn't have to wear a ridiculous dress robe that tried to cut through your back, tolerating Seth stupidity and lack of reasonable thinking came much easier and Oione probably wouldn't have snapped. But, considering the circumstances, she did.
"Don't you think that Amerelia and my mum have other things to discuss than buying me another dress that will fucking kill me one day?" Oione raised her voice in a rush of rage, impatience and sheer irritation. She exhaled sharply and lowered the tone, aware that nothing above whisper was safe in this house. "Look, why do you think your mum is staying at home, ill all of sudden? It's because my mum warned her. I asked her about Wilkes after you told me about him in the hospital wing. She knows that I suspect something.
Oione tugged at the side of her dress, alarmed by the sudden inability to breathe in. Better. Frankly, she couldn't wait until this idiotic dinner party was over.
She paced back and forth as Seth stared out of the window. Finally, she sat down on the bed, glaring stubbornly at the bare walls as though burning a hole in it would really help them. "He won't call Amerelia, of that I'm sure. Imagine the mayhem and the scandal. Things like that don't go quietly. As for throwing us out...I can't blame him, especially when he discovers what a moron of a son he's got."
The last bit was dripping with sarcasm, of course. Oione doubted that he would react this way, from what she concluded he wouldn't have helped Seth out so many times if the boy was indifferent to him. Besides, they knew too much and whether he wanted or not they had to be reckoned with.
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 21, 2007 11:50:55 GMT -5
'No, they haven't,' said Seth knowingly. He swung around, balled fists clenched tightly at his sides, blinking rapidly. 'I'm a moron, ye're right. How come I didn't work it out sooner? Rich people don't just send money to little bastard boys in Ireland, ye know? How come it took me so long? And I couldn't even work it out meself. Ye had to help me with it. And I know for a fact,' he leant heavily against the wall, wiping his face with the sleeves of his dress robes, 'that my mam shan't stop us finding him. It's Augustus we've got to worry about, but he's oblivious as a dumb feck, so I reckon we're all right for a while. But mam, it's almost like she wants me to find him, get me out of her hair, or soomink. Maybe she thinks he'll keep me once he knows I know who he is. I dunno.'
Amerelia Rookwood had been acting strangely around the house for quite some time. Her mysterious illness kept her away from Seth most times, and he was constantly being sent outside, to the kitchens, or locked up in his room. Augustus stayed home now, which was bad eggs anyway, and not helped in the least by the fact that the man seemed to be drinking more and of a far shorter temperament than usual. He was the one always hanging around, nagging Seth to help the house elves finish dinner early or to go up to his room in the middle of the day. The mater remained in her room and the woman's parlour, drinking milk and tea and calling loudly for fish & chips from the house elves. Seth had witnessed, unwittingly, a few occasions where she simply sat down and cried, then laughed, and rushed off to the toilet with morning sickness. Whatever this illness was, he thought, it was driving his mother mad.
'I've told you not to lock this door from the inside!' Speak of the Devil....
Remaining casually against the wall, his eyes flickering over Mme Mireault, and then onto his own mother's drawn face, Seth said stiffly, 'I've told ye not to lock it from the outside, but that's all right, is it?'
His mother chose to ignore him, her blue eyes regarding the boy coolly before moving onto Oione. She smiled. 'What are you two up to in here, hm? Nothing naughty I hope.' She had a hand rested across her stomach, which seemed to have popped out a bit. Seth opened his mouth, ready to tell her she might want to lay of the fish & chips, but thought the better and snapped it shut again, opting instead to fix her with a warm glare. 'Mme Mireault and I have been talking about your little trip this holiday, and we've got some things to share with you before you both leave.'
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 22, 2007 15:46:37 GMT -5
Oione blinked several times and finally, out of sheer disorientation furrowed her brows. Seth's sudden proclamation of morondom made her feel torn between nodding in agreement and frowning, of course, most of the time he didn't act like the smartest of people, but Oione was under the impression that it was her privilege alone to point that little fact out. "Well, better late than never" she murmured airily, because it was Christmas Eve after all, and hauling Seth over the coals could wait. "Took me bloody long enough too, I tried to find out who your dad was since I was eight" Which was true. They might have not been friends yet but Oione had always been interested in the man who left Amerelia Rookwood disgraced in the eyes of Pureblood trophy wives. No wonder she couldn't find him with all Richard Wilkes' pages torn from her family album. "We have to make sure he stays oblivious" Oione nodded and was about to ask about Seth's mother odd behaviour when...
Oh.
The air seemed to have gone from Oione's lungs again and this time it definitely wasn't because of the decorative corset. However, she managed to turn her startled gasp into an expression of deep admiration. "Mrs. Rookwood, you look breathtaking. So radiant" she beamed. The woman's voice (and her choice of words) never failed to make Oione feel like a three year old pushing a pudgy hand into a jar of cookies. The girl smiled back in response and hoped that her eyes didn't linger at Amerelia's slightly swollen belly for too long. She glanced briefly at her mother and the other woman's light nod said it all.
Oh. Merlin. Why haven't Seth told her?
Oione forced another polite smile. "Yes, what is it?"
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 22, 2007 20:07:32 GMT -5
'If you'll excuse me....' Amerelia drifted airily to Seth's bed, tossing it a disdainful look before smoothing the covers fondly and sitting down. Seth had always had the feeling that his mother had never quite grown up. Becoming a mother at the age of sixteen, while he was certain it was not easy, had stemmed her growth maturity wise in several respects. She was always slightly scatterbrained, though clever and manipulating to boot, and, if he could remember, she had never really seemed to grasp that he was a living, breathing boy. Not a doll to be dressed up in fine suits, or a wispy little cloud of bastardism to be locked in a room and hidden from all of humankind. 'I want to know that you shall be on your best behaviour,' said Amerelia sternly, eyes on her son. Seth nodded. 'I want you to stay away from the Balkans, and the Baltic Sea. I don't want you in the north of Ireland, or anywhere near Birmingham. Don't even think about Asia, Africa, or the Middle East. You stay in Europe, and linger in the Eastern side of it only as long as necessary. You may travel - wipe that filthly look of your face, Seth - to France, Italy, Germany, Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, England, Scotland, Poland, Switzerland, Lichtenstein, and Austria. I want you out of Spain and Portugal, and don't step a foot near Turkey. Is that understood, the two of you?'
'Yes, mam,' Seth answered automatically, having tuned her out during the first few countries. Oione was better at memorising stuff like this in the first place, not Seth. His mother, nodding with satisfaction, turned to Mme Mireault, her eyes inquisitive.
'Anything to add, dear? Oh - wait, Seth - ' He straightened at her stern tone, head popping up immediately, eyes wide. 'I've a parcel for you. Early Christmas present, I suppose, from Tom. He asked me to give it to you, in case he was too drunk to remember for you.' Something in her blue eyes told him to take the parcel and shut his mouth. He did just that, sparing the plain brown wrappings a single, disinterested glance before stuffing it behind his pillow. Oione could help him open it later, for Seth held no doubt in his mind who the gift was from. It could only have been one man, the one man to ever have shown any interest in his welfare at all.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Jan 26, 2007 17:48:00 GMT -5
Oione really hoped she was at least convincing while her pretending to actually pay attention to what Amerelia Rookwood was saying instead of just giving them all a dazed look and asking for a bottle of port, because she really felt like downing one at the moment and regretted leaving her glass on the dinning table. Hang-over would feel like bliss compared with the current state of things. She nodded thoughtfully a few times and said 'yes, madam', 'of course, madam' as politely as she could muster.
Oione always failed do see the point of giving such lectures, she of course tried to remember every detail of it in case her mother was in one of her 'I know you're not listening to me' moods, but to tell the truth if they wanted to brush against Turkey on their way home they could do so without them knowing. Though of course, they were going to be far too busy in France to even think about having a sightseeing trip. Oione carefully avoided her mother's eyes, focusing on Amerelia and wishing that the two would just leave them alone, so that the girl could just think in peace (and possibly get to the kitchens for some calming port). Seth received his Christmas gift and this time Oione did not need to chime a curious 'who is it from', for it was pretty obvious.
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Post by Seth Silver on Jan 30, 2007 17:15:04 GMT -5
Amerelia seemed to think an unlocked door was an open invitation to a tea party, much to Seth's chagrin. Smiling softly to herself, she smoothed the covers of his bed over and over again with her dainty hand, pausing every so often to examine the manicured fingernails when they caught the occasional ray of sunlight. 'Dum dum de dum dum de dum....' Seth cleared his throat. 'Dum dee dee dum doo dum doo....' The mater shifted, smiled at her fingers, and continued humming. 'Dee Dee Doo Dum Doo Dum....' It really was getting to be a bit ridiculous.
Clearing his throat loudly, he said, 'Mam.'
She stopped.
'Mam.'
'Yes, Seth.' Emitting the faintest of exasperated breaths.
'Ye're getting fat.'
He could hear Mme Mireault gasp to the right, and his mother regarded him for a moment, her blue eyes like chips of ice. Once, a long time ago, the mater had bade Seth tell her always when something was off about her appearance. Corn in the teeth, mussed hair, robes wrinkled, anything. He was to take her aside, of course, because no one else's attention ought be brought onto the matter when they had nothing to do with it, especially humbling matters such as these. But, Seth reckoned, it was his room, and he could do whatever he bloody well pleased, couldn't he?
He began to re-reckon as her hand pulled away from his cheek, leaving behind a deep, burning red handprint. He jumped, but the hand was not finished. Once more on that cheek, twice for the other, and a backhanded one round his head. Salazar, but she hit hard these days. It must've been the extra weight she had been putting on lately, he thought ruefully.
'I'll thank you to keep your disgusting mouth from my sight until the food is served!' Mam huffed, then flounced out with Mme Mireault hot on her heels, the two of them bursting with astonishment and comments on "that boy's obvious lack of a disciplinary figure in his life". Seth waited, however, until Mme Mireault had volunteered her own son and husband to give him what she considered a long-deserved beating before slamming the door shut behind him.
Turning to Oione and rubbing his flaming cheeks, he said reproachfully, 'Shouldn't've said it, prolly, but she's got so bloody fat lately, ye'd think she'd like to hear it.'
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