Every word you utter puzzles me. And I get myself dirty. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection.
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