"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. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright.
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