"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. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination.
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