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. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy.
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