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"Have you another gun?" asked the last-maker of the taller of the two
workmen.
"If we had three guns we should be three men," answered the workman.
The little one added, "Do you think that the good will is wanting? There
are plenty of musicians, but there are no clarionets."
By the side of the wooden paling could be seen a little, narrow and low
door, which looked more like the door of a stall than the door of a
shop. The shop to which this door belonged was hermetically sealed. The
door seemed to be equally closed. The last-maker went up to it and
pushed it gently. It was open.
"
Let us go in," he said.
I went in first, he followed me, and shut the door behind me. We were in
a room on the ground floor. At the end, on the left, a half-opened door
emitted the reflection of a light. The room was only lighted by this
reflection. A counter and a species of stove, painted in black and
white, could be dimly distinguished.
A short, half-suffocated, intermittent gurgling could be heard, which
seemed to come from an adjoining room on the same side as the light. The
last-maker walked quickly to the half-opened door. I crossed the room
after him, and we found ourselves in a sort of vast shed, lighted by one
candle. We were on the other side of the plank paling. There was only
the plank paling between ourselves and the barricade.
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