As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. I suppose I believe in God.
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