Exceptional Circumstances

The night dragged. Neither Frau Biar nor Amie were hungry. They kept vigil over Wilma, the clock dragging its hands around its face in slow deliberate ticks and tocks.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

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Lost World of the Wends (33)

They trooped over to the barn and poked around in the bales of straw. No Friedrich.
‘Perhaps he’s in the outhouse,’ Amie said.
‘Or under it,’ Joseph added.
‘What do you mean?’ Herr Biar asked.
‘He might be in the cellar underneath,’ Amie said.
‘What cellar?’
‘The one with the glowing blue light,’ Joseph said. ‘Maybe he’s hiding there.’
‘Or gone to the other side,’ Amie said.
‘What do you mean, other side?’ Herr Biar scratched his forehead.

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