He inspected the formidable array of rifles and at length walked over to the register. "Sir Rowland must be gone. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. Michelle smiled.
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