Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. "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.
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