She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. They give themselves airs, but so it is. "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. Then he had gone away.
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