"I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. “We should get out of here. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed.
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