"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. Understand once and for all that that answer is final.
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