"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. “Carolyn loves ‘Fiddler on the Roof. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. In the mean time, let me advise you as a friend not to irritate him by a refusal, which would be as useless as vexatious. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden.
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