While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. The chair is in the veranda.
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