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Paddy sat on the sugan chair at the left of the hearth. He began to grope for the tongs. Eventually he found them. He drew the red coals of turf out of the ashes and set them together in a kind of pyramid. The flames came up.
The door of the front bedroom creaked open. Maag was there, dressed in a long white nightdress.
"Were you scoldin' him?" she asked.
"Ay," Paddy answered.
"He wants scoldin' badly. He's always spyin' on my Mom."
After a pause, the girl came to the center of the kitchen. "Honest," she asked, "are you my uncle?"
"In a class of a way."
"What class of a way?" she said. She took a step closer.
"Are you cold, girlie?" Paddy asked.
"I am an' I am not. What class of a way are you my uncle?"