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Message: <blockquote data-quote="James from London" data-source="post: 167371" data-attributes="member: 22">Chapter 33Wind hit the house hard, jerked at the eaves, and tried to shake out windows. No such a thing, Ellie thought; this house has stood against the worst northers in Texas, and it’ll be firm when all of us are gone, when new generations of Ewings sheltered in it.She knew every board, every handmade brick of this house, each split shingle of its roof. And Ellie knew its moods, the cranky settling of it in the winter as it complained in creaks and dry groans. She responded to the rattle of it freshening in spring rains, the opening of the old house to summer.And it was why she knew through the blunted migraine that something was wrong in the house now, this moment. There was a tightness, a waiting – and not for the storm; the house had faced to the wind and defied it. No, it was something else. Ellie put her feet into soft slippers and drew an old robe about herself.</blockquote>