Outside the window, Margaret sees that Shimmer has successfully relieved Wes of his coat. He clenches the fabric between his teeth and tosses his head triumphantly. Wes shouts something she can’t make out from here, imploringly reaching for the wet, limp mass of his jacket. “That boy is … something else, isn’t he?” “Yes,” Margaret says softly. “He is.” “I’ll go let him inside.”
