Benedict Cumberbatch reads for the Story of Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter s nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to
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