She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. Pardon! I wish to say, for your granddaughter, we seek succour. These amazing infants! Suddenly he came upon the true solution: that the boy hadn't meant to steal whatever it was he had stolen. Forgive me.
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