The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. “John, we should be getting out of here. She described it so vividly. Come, mon ami, come!’ Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. He sat down. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. But he did not follow on with the thought. Kneebone took his leave. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other.
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