Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. ’ Le Petit Journal said that the man was dead. He kissed her again. Lord, I am sixty.
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