" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. " "Is he alive!" vociferated Trenchard. But you couldn't. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead.
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