. "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. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. Her sister had told him that it was true. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. She found a little difficulty in beginning.
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