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“Wonder how much longer it’ll be,” whispered Bob, forcing a little laugh. “Seems like we’ve gone miles!” The Queen knew nothing of all this. Meanwhile a little Princess had been born to her, as beautiful as the Frog had predicted, to whom they gave the name of Moufette. The Queen had great difficulty in persuading the fairy to allow her to bring up the child, for so ferocious was she, that she would have liked to eat it. Moufette, a wonder of beauty, was now six months old; the Queen, as she looked upon her with a tenderness mingled with pity, continually said: "Ah! if your father could see you, my poor little one, how delighted he would be! how dear you would be to him! But even, already, maybe, he has begun to forget me; he believes, no doubt, that we are lost to him in death; and perhaps another fills the place in his heart, that once was mine." “You wild youngsters! If ever I saw your equal!” he grumbled behind his red-brown beard. “Sit still, I tell you!”.

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She sat for a while without answering; she was alarmed at the thought of arousing the monster's anger by refusing him. Nevertheless she finally[124] said, trembling, "No, Beast." At this the poor monster sighed, and the hideous sound he made echoed throughout the castle, but Beauty was soon reassured, for the Beast, after sadly bidding her adieu, left the room, turning his head from time to time to look at her again. “I didn’t know what I’d let myself in for. If anything, my life was a lot worse than it’d been before. The Denver Kid was the name of the man who had picked me up and I soon learned that he was a tramp—a hobo. All first class hoboes get boys who go along with them and on whom fall all the hard work. Their pay is in kicks and beatings. And I got my share of both. I found the country to be as he said it was, but we saw very little of it, for the Kid didn’t like walking. He stayed close to the railroad and I saw most of the country from a crack in the door of a box car, or through the flying sand thrown up over us as we clung to a rattling brake-beam. CHAPTER XIII The Birthday Party Each rising murmur which the wild wave pours..