At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. The major’s hand stilled. “Nothing. "Auntie?" he cried. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash.
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