Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out "Mother!" "Who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around. Lose no time. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town.
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