She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. "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. Terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of Mrs.
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