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and he had nothing to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the nearby village in the hope of finding some kind person who might give him some food.

Chapter 3 “The Pears”

Pinocchio hated the dark streets, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and then shot across the sky, illuminating the entire town. A cold, angry wind blew, raising clouds of dust and making the trees shake and moan.

Pinocchio was terrified of thunder and lightning, but his rabid hunger made him forget his fear. He ran as fast as he could toward the village. He arrived tired out and panting, with his tongue hanging out like a dog's.

The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, and all the doors and windows were shut. It seemed like a ghost town.

Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: “Someone will surely answer that!”

He was right. An old man in a nightcap peered through an aperture in the upstairs window curtain. He called down angrily, “What do you want at this hour of the night?”

“Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I'm dying of hunger.”

“Wait a minute and I'll be right back,” answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those naughty boys who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells while they're peacefully asleep.

After a minute or two, the same voice cried, “I have something I think you'll find invigorating. Get under the window and hold out your hat!”

Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his head, his shoulders, and his whole body.

He returned home as wet as a rag, freezing, and tired out from weariness and hunger. As he was too weak to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his feet on the stove to dry them.

There he fell asleep. While he slept his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ash.

Pinocchio slept so soundly that he was unaware of his feet. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door. “Who is it?” he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“It is I,” answered a voice. It was the voice of Geppetto, who had finally been released from the police station.

The poor puppet, who was still half asleep,

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