Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. "And me," added Mrs. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse.
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