I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Chapter 529 He's Naughty!

On December 1st, after the train crossed the border, the field ridges outside the window were straight, and the walls of the cowshed were painted white.

Every so often along the railway, there was a sentry carrying a rifle, with a white cross on his hat.

Beyond Altdorf, you'll reach the Gotthard Line.

Richard had heard about this before; the engineers had carved a series of spiral tunnels inside the mountain to allow the train to climb to a height of over a thousand meters.

The train went in and circled around the hillside, and came out still on the same hillside, only a few dozen meters higher.

Further up, you'll reach the snow line.

Frost began to form on the windows, and the heating pipes inside the carriage were so hot they could burn your hand.

After passing through the main tunnel of Gotthard, you emerge to a different world.

To the south are sunlight and stones, to the north are gray and clouds.

Arriving in Lucerne in the evening, the Foreign Police Station is located next to the train station.

Mortimer wrote "University Professor" in the "Occupation" column and "Monk" in the "Whom to Meet" column. The officer looked up at him.

"Which monk?"

"It's not decided yet," Mortimer said lazily.

"We'll see when we get there; they're all pretty much the same anyway."

The officer shook his head and stamped the form.

When Richard wrote his own entry, he paused for a moment in the "Purpose of Entry" section before finally writing "Accompanying and visiting relatives and friends".

The hotel was booked by the river, with windows facing the Reuss River, whose waters flowed from Lake Lucerne, a deep blue-green.

Mortimer left early the next morning to take a boat on the lake from the dock.

The old professor, briefcase in hand, stood in front of the diving board and turned to give instructions:

"I'll be staying there for at least several days, so don't wander off."

"I know."

"Also, don't buy any more cursed items." "I won't."

Richard stood on the dock until the ships were out of sight before turning around and walking into the city.

Lucerne was smaller than he had imagined, and the newsstand shelves were lined with newspapers in four languages, each carrying its own news of victory.

Richard wandered around the city alone, which could be considered a form of tourism.

The Chapel Bridge features 17th-century triangular wooden panels depicting the city's history and patron saints.

A little further downstream is the Schpruyl Bridge, which has more than sixty wooden paintings on its roof, all of which feature skulls.

中世纪的黑死病大流行（1347-1353）、百年战争（1337-1453）、14世纪的大饑荒都造成了大量人口死亡，人不得不直面生死无常的一生。

Death held the Pope's hand, Death linked arms with the bride;

Death helps a merchant with his abacus, and Death sits at the same table as a scholar who is reading.

Richard stood beneath the bride's portrait, looking at the two lines of rhymed verse.

He couldn't read it all, only recognizing the one Germanic word that appeared repeatedly: death.

People call these paintings "ez" (dance of the dead). Death is never depicted as fierce in these paintings.

It wears a flower wreath, crosses its legs, supports people's arms, and helps them with their hats and abacus beads.

Of the entire queue, it was the lightest.

It was dancing, while everyone else was frozen in place.

The Pope froze, the Emperor froze, the knight froze, and the bride bowed her head.

He stood in front of the last painting for a long time.

The scholar in the painting is turning a page, and Death extends a skeletal hand to hold the page down for him.

The river outside the bridge is making a sound.

The water flowing from the lake has maintained the same flow rate in both winter and summer, unchanged for hundreds of years.

A woman carrying a vegetable basket walked past him, the wooden planks creaking all the way until they stopped abruptly on the other side of the bridge.

Richard kept his head up until his neck ached before he remembered to move.

...It rained freezing rain all night in Prague, and Lillian dragged her small suitcase through the New Town.

The Emperor Franz Joseph Station was completed less than ten years ago, and the dome of the entrance hall was painted with golden vines and several dignified goddesses.

Steam poured in from the station, swirled under the dome, and slowly dampened the faces of the goddesses.

She sat down by the window in the third-class carriage and laid her passport out on her lap.

A deep red cover, adorned with a crown: Kingdom of Denmark.

License holder: Lise Haug.

Occupation: Student.

Date of birth: April 27, 1897.

When Ms. Holloway brought the fake document over, she said the following:

"Danish people are disliked everywhere. They sell butter, they sell porcelain, they never fight, and sentries won't even bother to look at a Danish passport."

The date of birth on the passport was just a random date; it wasn't December 3rd.

She looked at the passport and thought: There's probably no one left in this world who would celebrate my birthday. The train swayed and pulled out of the station.

There were many mountain tunnels along the way, and in the darkness, the car window reflected a very pale-faced girl who didn't look like a living person.

Lillian watched for a while, then looked away, counting the sound of wheels rolling over the seams of the rails. She fell asleep while counting.

The sanatorium on Mount Rigi is next to a small church called "Our Lady of the Snow".

My mother's room faces south, and outside the window is the entire Lake Lucerne.

Ms. Holloway wasn't lying; the air really is fresh.

Lillian stood by the window and exhaled; the white mist dissipated as soon as it left her lips.

She didn't feel cold; instead, she felt her tense emotions relax with the exhaled breath.

My mother sat in a wicker chair by the window; most of her hair had turned white.

Lillian walked over.

Her mother recognized her, called her name, and then turned to look out the window.

"Look, that door is still open." Lillian followed her gaze.

Lake, mountains, snow, a crow swoops by with its wings askew, and there's nothing there.

Lillian knelt down and took her mother's hands in hers.

"Why are your hands so cold?" the mother said, somewhat surprised.

It's snowing outside.

Laughter came from the nurses' station after dinner.

The three nurses on night duty were all girls from the foot of the mountain.

Freni was from Gersau, and her cheeks were red from the cold;

Annalie speaks softly and blushes as soon as she opens her mouth;

Una was the tallest, and her laughter could be heard throughout the entire floor.

Freyne poked half her body out of the door and waved to Lillian in the hallway.

"Miss Lise, come quick!" An alcohol lamp was lit on the small table at the nurses' station, with an old spoon resting on it.

The small amount of lead in the spoon had melted and was shimmering.

"Tonight is the eve of St. Andrew's Day," Freyne said.

"Girls should all be tested with lead once to see what their future husbands will do."

She picked up the spoon, flicked her wrist, and the molten lead fell into the cold water with a hiss, sending up a small puff of white steam.

The nurse reached in, pulled out a crooked object, and held it up to the light.

"It's a boat!" Una exclaimed.

"How does it resemble a boat?"

"This is the mast, this is the gunwale; you're going to marry a boatman on the lake."

"I would never marry a boatman; he reeks of fish."

Despite her apparent disgust, Freya still stuffed the lead into her apron pocket.

What Annali poured out was a round, plump lump that didn't resemble anything. Una took it and examined it for a long time before drawing a conclusion:

"It's bread. You should marry a baker so you can have hot bread every day."

Anna blushed and put it away as well.

When it was Una's turn, the lead in the water solidified into a large lump, with crooked and twisted edges.

The three of them stared at the light for a long time, and Annalie whispered, "It looks...like a stone."

"That means marrying the mountain," Freyne clapped her hands.

"Una is going to marry Rigisan and spend her whole life here taking care of patients' bodily functions."

Una angrily threw the lump back into the basin, splashing water all over Freyne's face.

Lillian stood by the door, looking on with some curiosity.

Freyne shoved the spoon into her hand: "Miss Lise, you should try it too. Do you Danes celebrate Andres Day as well?"

Lillian didn't actually know if Denmark would participate, but she was certainly interested.

She held the spoon and placed it back on the fire, watching the crumbs of lead slowly sink. The spoon tipped over.

Swoosh! The lead has solidified in the water.

The girl reached out to grab it, but the cold water went over her wrist.

What she pulled out was a thin, long lead bar, thick at one end and tapering to a point at the other.

There was a thin crack at the tip, which was exactly the slit from which the ink came out of the pen.

Three girls gathered around.

"It's a pen!" Annalie said.

"A pen made of lead..."

Una pondered for a moment, then slammed her hand on the table:

"That's just a pencil! Miss Lise wants to marry someone who spends all day sharpening pencils!"

"Clerk." Freyne nodded.

"Or maybe he's a teacher." "Maybe he's a poet, that would be terrible!"

I heard in the newspaper that men in their twenties who haven't accomplished anything like this like to call themselves poets.

At this point in the conversation, the three young nurses burst into laughter.

Lillian did recently read a long poem about the eve of St. Agnes's Day.

She always remembered the first line of the poem: Ah, that night was bitterly cold…

The girl looked down at the pencil in her palm, a slight smile playing on her lips.

At the table by the window on the second floor of the middle school library, someone would sit there for an entire afternoon, the nib of his pen scratching across the paper.

………………

On December 3rd, just as dawn broke, Richard was already standing in the moonlight above Lucerne train station.

In addition to the usual items, the canvas bag also contained the birthday gift he had prepared.

A complete set of specimen tools—scalpel, bone scissors, forceps, syringe, and a measuring cup for preservative solution—was packed in a leather pouch. There was also a piece of honey gingerbread, with an arrow drawn on it, piercing an apple, in icing sugar.

That's the story of William Tell, the legendary hero of Helvetica, somewhat similar to Robin Hood.

If Evelyn were here, she would probably say that the apples weren't round enough, the icing was too thick, and the ginger flavor was too weak.

If Grey were here, she probably wouldn't say anything, would just break off a small piece to taste, and then look up and say, "Why don't I make it for him myself?"

Just as I was thinking this, the car started moving, the gears biting and grinding against the rack.

Time passed quickly amidst the jumble of thoughts in his mind, and before he knew it, he had arrived at his destination.

The snow is still falling, very fine.

Richard arrived at the bottom of the slope and found a person standing at the entrance of the small church.

She was wearing a gray coat, her back to the slope, one hand holding the door knocker, pulling the door inward.

After closing the door, she let go of the door and turned around to see the young man in front of her.

The girl's eyes were wide open, as if she hadn't woken up yet.

Richard stopped too. The last time they faced each other was last summer, in the main hall of the Black Soil River exhibition at the museum.

She dressed up specially that time, her hair was up, and her dress was new. She stood among a group of ladies who were visiting the exhibition.

More than a year has passed, and she has changed again.

The childlike roundness on her cheeks had faded completely, her eyebrows were still light, but her eyelashes were long and thick, so thick that snowflakes would not melt on them, each one with a delicate white powder.

Her skin was so white it was almost transparent, and her lips were a very light color, like the surface of a lake in winter.

She stood in the snow, and Richard, looking at her, for a moment couldn't tell which side was snow and which side was her.

Neither of them spoke.

The crows in the clock tower shook their wings, sending a small clump of snow from their pointed peaks fluttering down to her feet.

She spoke first.

What are you doing here?

"I came with the professor." Richard took a few steps forward.

"He's reading a batch of books at the monastery across the lake." "How did you know I was on this mountain?"

Richard didn't answer. He took off the canvas bag, took out an oil paper package tied with a red ribbon, and handed it over.

"Happy birthday."

She took it and looked down at it.

The knot in the ribbon was flattened a bit by the proprietress's pat. She untied the ribbon and saw the gingerbread.

An arrow pierced straight through an apple.

How did you know it was my birthday?

Richard then explained the application form.

Lillian blinked, and tears fell onto the gingerbread frosting, spreading into two small dots.

"I can hardly remember it myself."

Richard stood in front of her, his right hand clenched tightly in his coat pocket.

The girl lowered her head and used the back of her hand to wipe her face, but found it wasn't clean enough. She then simply held the oiled paper up to her face, leaving only her chin exposed. "...Don't look."

"I didn't see it."

Richard turned his face toward the clock tower, studying the crow intently.

Behind the oil paper, a very soft sniffing sound could be heard.

After a while, the oil paper slowly lowered, revealing a pair of red, tear-stained eyes with wet, clumped eyelashes.

Lillian suddenly realized that it wasn't surprising that Richard knew her birthday; he had a good memory.

But Richard knew she was in Helvedi, knew which mountain the sanatorium was on, and knew he would come in six days.

These were all written in a single letter, addressed to Your Excellency.

Realizing this, neither of them said anything.

Lillian took him to see his mother.

Richard stood at the doorway, the Mirroring Technique unfolding.

The woman was on the other side of the curtain; half of her was no longer in the room. He took a picture using the power of the Sphinx lamp.

The rope on the back of the photo is clearly visible, and there is a very small scratch on the rope.

He searched his memory and concluded that it must be some kind of script used in the frozen soil of the north.

Richard began to have some guesses about how Holloway got involved with this rope.

He recalled Lady Mary's mention of Elena Savolova, the Great Master of the Abyss who emerged from the frozen tundra at the northernmost edge of the Rus' Empire.

In the afternoon, Ms. Holloway arrived.

She looked to be around forty years old, wearing a dark gray travel suit.

Her hair was tied up low. Richard glanced at her several times, but each time he couldn't remember her features.

She spoke with a slight accent, making it impossible to tell where she was from; it seemed as if she had lived in many different places for several years.

The three of them sat on the open air drinking tea.

"Mr. Williams," Holloway said, setting down the teapot.

"Please forgive my curiosity, but older people are like this; they can't help but ask young people all sorts of questions. Which school do you study at?" "Preparatory course in Classics at Imperial University. I just graduated early this semester," Richard replied.

"Graduate early." Holloway nodded.

"That's impressive. Who's your advisor?"

"...This time I'm on a business trip with Professor Mortimer."

"Oh? Mortimer..."

She held the name in her mouth, like savoring tea.

"I've heard of him; he's a very long-lived old gentleman."

She picked up her teacup.

The moment the rim of the cup touched my lips, a sensory line pressed against me.

Richard remained seated, holding his teacup steadily, allowing Richard to probe him.

Holloway put down his teacup after reading it and smiled at him.

"Young man, try not to stay up too late." "Yes."

For the next fifteen minutes, she didn't ask Richard another question.

She told Lillian what time the post office down the mountain closed in winter, that the doctors here weren't bad people but loved to lecture, and that the bed in the Zurich hotel was too soft and made her back hurt.

He kept wearing gloves while saying this.

At 3:55, she got up and put the tea canister back into her handbag.

As she reached the doorway of the sunroom, she turned back to Lillian and said:

Don't forget the night of the winter solstice.

After Ms. Holloway left, Lillian put down her teacup without touching it.

"She gave me a task."

"On the night of the winter solstice, I followed... that procession from the sky down."

Go to the spirit world and bring something back.

"What is it?" Richard asked. "She said I'll find out when the time comes."

After saying that, the girl turned her face to the lake outside the window.

Richard then fully understood Holloway's plan: she moved the rope to the foot of Lillian's mother's bed so that Lillian would have to go to St. Gotthard on the winter solstice.

In the evening, the two walked together by the lake.

Richard told her about the mantra and the matches, about the damp matchbox and the landlady.

She tried it herself once.

The girl pulled out a match and held it between her fingers:

"If my name were Lillian Hayward, I'd make sure this match doesn't light."

She pressed the match head onto the sandpaper and rubbed it, but it didn't light.

She rubbed it again, scraping off a piece of red phosphorus from the match head, but it still wouldn't light.

Richard pulled another one out of the box, scratched it on the same side of the sandpaper, and with a snap, a flame shot up high.

Lillian held the unlit match: "I've been using someone else's name for the past few months."

Richard handed her the whole box of matches.

"Keep it. If you ever can't remember your name, just cut one off and see what happens."

That night, Richard stayed at the Angel Inn in town.

The inn is an old wooden building, and each step on the stairs makes a creaking sound.

It is said that Goethe, who wrote "Faust," stayed here for one night more than a hundred years ago.

The owner painted the door frame of that room gold, charging an extra two francs per night.

Richard stayed in the room next door; the door frame was its natural color.

He sat at the table with a manuscript spread out in front of him.

He owed Matthew his story for half a year, and now it's not just owed to Matthew alone.

In his past life, Mark Twain wrote a story about a North American mechanic who was knocked unconscious with a stick and woke up standing in King Arthur's court.

The details of that book have long since faded, leaving only the concept of it as one of the earliest historical time-travel novels. Matthew is one path, and writing about him is perfect.

Richard picked up his pen: *The Wrong Door*

...A record of the experiences and observations of a gentleman who returned from a very far place.

Chapter 1: Archimedes' Bathtub Has an Extra Person

Chapter Two: Hastings' Arrow

Chapter Three: Caesar's Assassination, Someone Sells Umbrellas at the Senate Gate

Chapter Four: Columbus misread the map; his destination was the subcontinent, but he ended up in the New World.

The next morning, Richard took the first bus up the mountain and handed the manuscript to Lillian.

She nestled in the sunroom reading her manuscript, covering her mouth with her hand when she came across something funny, her eyes narrowing into two crescent moons.

Richard sat down next to Lillian, noticed a typo on the edge of the manuscript, and took out a pencil from his pocket to correct it.

The girl stopped laughing as soon as he took out the pencil. Her eyes were fixed on the pencil in his hand, and her face gradually turned red.

Richard asked, "Why are you blushing?" Lillian quickly turned her head towards the window:

"No...it's nothing, the stove is burning too hot, I'm hot."

Richard turned his head and glanced at the iron stove in the corner, where the fire was burning brightly.

"Don't you never feel hot or cold?"

Lillian didn't utter a sound, her ears turning a bright red.

Richard folded the manuscript and put it away.

If he only writes one piece, Matthew will forget it after reading it;

If it's written as a serial and sent out every two months, it can be sent out six times a year.

As for the note on the master's library card that reads, "The borrowing period will be extended by one month for each new story completed,"...

Whether a short story counts as a full piece or not, he plans to have a proper discussion with the administrator later.

In the afternoon, Lillian's mother went to sleep.

Richard said he wanted to visit the small church at the bottom of the hill, and Lillian went with him. The church was empty, with only about ten rows of pews.

The girl sat down on the last row of benches.

Richard sat down next to her and asked tentatively.

"May I ask you a question... related to the mystical side?"

"What?"

"That's right, your traditional breathing method."

"No way!" Her smiling face suddenly turned cold.

"I'm conducting a controlled study related to breathing techniques." Richard's eyes darted around as he organized his thoughts.

"I have analyzed the etheric pathways of the three breathing techniques: the Golden Way, Tide Change, and Mirror Condensation."

Lillian looked at him.

"You said the word 'research' too quickly."

Richard opened his mouth; he hadn't told the whole truth. [Breathing lv7] To breathe completely for 24 hours in a vacuum without external assistance.

He wanted to know if there were any related methods for the Abyss Breathing Technique, and he was also curious about the traditional Abyss Breathing Technique.

"...There are indeed other reasons."

Richard said sincerely, "I want to know why you have so many symptoms from practicing the Abyss tradition. Understanding the specific breathing techniques might help me find the right treatment in the future."

Upon hearing this, Lillian looked away.

I'll just give you a tiny bit of an explanation of breathing techniques.

"I can't teach you any of those things, like spells, rituals, or how to deal with evil spirits and wandering souls."

Richard asked, "Why not teach them?"

Lillian turned around and sat up straight facing him: "Don't speak yet, let me finish."

She made a very serious face:

"The breathing technique of the abyss, once you master it, will transform the ether in your body."

"If you ever want to follow the path of the sun, the mirror, or the classics again, there's no going back. You can only go down that one path to the bitter end." Richard didn't reply.

Lillian extended a finger and pointed it at his chest through the air:

"I can't see the ether on you very clearly, but I can see that you are still on the right path."

She closed her eyes and slowly said, "The Golden Way calls the area behind the sternum the Sun Seat. When practicing, you should visualize a sun on the Sun Seat."

"We in the Abyss don't want the Sun; we've simply hollowed out the Sun's Throne."

"We don't count the beats, and there are no heartbeats to count down in the deep well."

"First, find a weak point in the curtain, then forcefully expel it out, expelling the ether and the air, until there is not a trace left in your lungs. The empty space in your lungs will then collapse on its own."

"Then swallow the collapsed emptiness back down, and once you've swallowed it, just wait for a tiny bit of the deep well behind the curtain to rise up."

After Lillian finished speaking, she opened her eyes:

"They are very generous with things over there. You can breathe freely wherever you go. You can still breathe even if you are locked in a lead box or buried in the ground."

When Richard heard "he can breathe even when buried in the ground," his heart skipped a beat, and his [chemical structure] self-check immediately alerted the police.

This breathing technique is unstable from beginning to end; the person collapses downwards first. They collapse and exhale, then collapse again, and then take another breath.

Richard recalled the book "The Mystery of the Abyss" that his aunt had given him. In the book, it was written that the most obedient child learned to breathe quickly, taking in all the benefits from the deep well in one breath. After taking in everything he could, he would start taking in himself.

Richard then thought of the [Shadow Reversal] technique, which could be used in reverse.

Breathing techniques are not considered spells. To obtain Abyss spells, one must first master the breathing techniques to a certain level and then thoroughly study and master the spells in order to reverse them.

Once you get into the breathing technique, the ether within your body will be transformed and can never be returned to its original state.

Richard knew in his heart that the Abyss Breathing Technique was a dead end.

As for the unlock condition for [Breathing], it is "without relying on external forces".

Whether drawing nourishment from the deep well of the curtain counts as an external force is a question he can only answer with a question mark.

"What are you thinking? Don't practice!"

Seeing that he had been keeping his eyes closed and not speaking for a long time, Lillian became a little nervous and grabbed his hand to shake him awake.

Richard was jolted awake by the deathly cold hand and quickly opened his eyes: "I wasn't practicing, I was just memorizing."

"I don't trust you." She took the box of matches out of her coat pocket and stuffed it into his hand.

"Come, swear an oath with your mantra."

Richard took the matches and pulled one out.

"If what I'm saying is true."

"...I'm not planning to practice the Abyss Breathing Technique right now, so I'll just let the flames drift towards you."

He marked it with his name.

There was no wind in the church. The flames stood straight up at first, then slowly curved toward her.

Lillian stared at the flickering flame until it went out.

"If you don't plan to now, what about later?"

"What happens after that is beyond the control of Matchstick."

She frowned, looking at him with great dissatisfaction.

"Then every time I see you, I'll let you strike a match." "That would require buying several boxes of matches." Richard could only agree.

"I'll buy it," she snorted.

On the evening of December 5th, Lillian followed Richard down the mountain.

Her mother woke up for a while in the afternoon, drank half a bowl of soup, and asked Lillian if the door was closed.

Lillian said to turn it off, and the woman went back to sleep.

As soon as it got dark, the townspeople flocked to the main street.

Today, I don't know what holiday it is, but hundreds of men, each wearing a paper-cut bishop's crown taller than a person with candles inside, are parading through the town.

Someone ahead was cracking a long whip, the whip snapping through the air.

Behind them, someone carried a large copper bell on their back and swayed along the way, while someone else blew a bull horn.

Richard was standing in the crowd when an old man with a cane next to him, probably because he didn't recognize Richard, came over to explain.

"We're rushing to Turster."

The old man poked the sky with his cane. "That's the legendary old hunter from the mountains. On stormy nights, he leads a pack of dogs down the mountain. Whoever encounters him will fall seriously ill."

Whip it, bell it, and flash it with light, and it will be too scared to go down the mountain.

"Has it come down this year?" Richard asked.

"Not this year," the old man said smugly.

"We're working hard."

Richard turned his head to the side, and Lillian stood beside him, the light from the paper crown sliding across her face.

The girl turned her head to look at him.

Two men who had ridden horses in the Wild Hunt stood amidst a group of people trying to drive the Wild Hunt away.

Lillian laughed out loud first, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

Richard couldn't help but watch as the old man looked at the two of them with a puzzled expression, shook his head, and moved to the other side.

Before the laughter had subsided, Richard noticed that there was one more shadow on the wall than there were paper crowns all over the street.

The shadow followed the light, moving from one paper crown's shadow into the next. It had no face, but Richard was intimately familiar with its ethereal fluctuations.

Richard recognized the shadow; it must be a sentry scouting ahead.

He had met the Black Soil River expert twice before, once in Heigou and once in Flanders, so he recognized him at a glance.

Lillian's shoulder rested lightly on his arm, still smiling, completely unaware.

The shadow sentinel turned south, and beyond the lake and mountains lay Saint Gotthard.

It quickly moved into the shadow of the next lamp and followed the parade to the end of the street.

Richard stood still.

At the very back of the procession was a tall local man with a white beard, wearing a bishop's cap and leaning on a gold scepter.

He was accompanied by a dark-faced attendant carrying thin birch branches and a sack full of nuts and oranges slung over his waist.

The tall man would walk a short distance and then stop, bend down, and ask the children on the roadside if they had been well-behaved this year.

The children puffed out their chests and shouted "Good boy!" The attendant then took an orange out of the sack and gave it to one of the children.

The big guy, probably noticing Richard's youthful appearance and the fact that he was standing behind a group of children, stopped in front of Richard and asked in a deep voice, "Young man, have you been behaving well this year?"

Richard opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to say "good boy."

"He's naughty!" Lillian blurted out.

The dark-faced attendant pulled out a birch branch and lightly lashed it against his coat.

I didn't feel anything through the thick clothes, except that the snow on my coat was being sucked off in a flurry.

The children nearby were laughing so hard they were doubled over.

The big man sized Richard up for a moment, then took out an orange and stuffed it into his hand:

Even naughty children get to eat oranges.

This year, with the war going on, nobody's been behaving very well.

He leaned on his scepter and continued walking forward.

Richard turned his head and saw Lillian smiling at him.