The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. ’ Emile reached out both hands and grasped her shoulders. "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.
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