A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. ‘I am entirely English. "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. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait.
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