Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. So overjoyed was the carpenter with the successful issue of his undertaking, that he scarcely paused a moment to recruit himself; but, securing the child, set out upon his return. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. Her eyes were wide and bright.
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