A Christmas Carol: The End of It

228.865 - 259.507 Keith Morrison

Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head. No fog, no mist. It was clear and bright and jovial and stirring and cold, cold. Piping for the blood to dance to. Golden sunlight, heavenly skies, sweet, fresh air. Merry bells, oh, glorious, glorious. What's today? cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. Eh?