For the first time a definite doubt possessed him. "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 was painfully in earnest, too. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. “Don’t you care for Mr. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know.
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