” He said, his voice tinged with worry. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. "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. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school.
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