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In the Night

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Archibald Craven found himself unable to sleep. He rose, as he had done so often before, and went to Colin’s room, through the dark corridors, past the tapestry, wondering all the while if the day had only been a dream. But no, there was his boy, face flushed with good health, sprawled across the bed like a puppy that had exhausted itself temporarily from play, and would soon leap up again. And on the wall Lilias smiled down at both of them, the sleeping child and the grateful man, until the sun came up to peek in at the windows.