"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. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down.
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