The west house is a school now, in its way. Not officially — officially it is nothing, and Serrin's clerks have never been able to decide what to call it in the roll, and Ferrin's son has given up asking.
Ilva teaches there in the winters. Bran keeps the yard. Sesse, who does not wish to be described, has the seventh room still and the door has been off its hinges for nineteen years and leans against the wall in the corridor because nobody will throw it away.
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