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The closest anyone in Cair Paravel ever came to laughing about the White Witch's reign was the year three feet of snow fell, clear to the sea, in under a week.
Mr. Tumnus had to stifle a giggle behind his hand as the youngest fauns and satyrs of the royal court tried to figure out how to walk without falling over, even as their elders - like him - simply returned to the ways of their own youths in the snow.