I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. I don’t mind it. Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds. An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture. "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. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. Gerald’s chest tightened.
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