She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Um. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern.
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