The children stopped their onrush and huddled together at the living room door as Olivia unlocked the back door and apprehensively swung it open. Framed in the doorway was Clay Spencer, half-frozen, an impish grin on his face, his arms overflowing with bundles. “I’ve been worried sick about you,” said Olivia but her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands and wept. “Mama, don’t cry,” said Clay-Boy. “He’s home!” Struggling with packages, Clay entered. He placed his bundles down on the table, knelt and opened his arms and immediately they were filled with children, brushing the snow
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