Thomas mounted the railing with remembered ease and held himself in place with his hands, grasping the banister in front of him while he readied himself for the ride. Then he let go and began his descent just as his mother came into view. He was three-quarters of the way down when his mother looked up and saw him sliding at breakneck speed toward her. “Thomas Burns!”, she shouted at him in maternal reproof as he hastily checked his velocity by grabbing the banister with both hands and came to a palm-burning stop at the bottom, “How many times have I told you that the stair is not playground equipment? You could fall and hurt yourself! If you want to slide on something, go to the schoolyard at the Elementary School down the street and play there! Do you hear me?”

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