When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. The elemental woman was always close to the cat: as the elemental man was always but a point removed from the wolf. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire.
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