In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. "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. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that.
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