She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Brendon was silent. The father would be all steel. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. "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.
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