The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. Madame shrugged. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. I was pretty strong for a four-year old! She was so mad that she spanked me with a belt until my butt was raw and bleeding. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. “Should I leave? Sounds like she is running out of food.
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