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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Good-night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from dangers and from assassins." No sooner had he said these words than the Talking-Cricket vanished suddenly like a light that has been blown out, and the road became darker than ever. "Really," said the puppet to himself, as he resumed his journey, "how unfortunate we poor boys are. Everybody scolds us and gives us good advice.
And in the meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. Poor Pinocchio had no other relief than yawning, and his yawns were so tremendous that sometimes his mouth almost reached his ears. And after he had yawned he spluttered and felt as if he were going to faint. Then he began to cry desperately, and he said: "The Talking-Cricket was right. I did wrong to rebel against my papa and to run away from home.
"I regret," said the Owl, "to be obliged to contradict the Crow, my illustrious friend and colleague; but, in my opinion the puppet is still alive; but, if unfortunately he should not be alive, then it would be a sign that he is dead indeed!" "And you have you nothing to say?" asked the Fairy of the Talking-Cricket.
Woe to you if I fly into a passion!" "Poor Pinocchio! I really pity you!" "Why do you pity me?" "Because you are a puppet and, what is worse, because you have a wooden head." At these last words Pinocchio jumped up in a rage and, snatching a wooden hammer from the bench, he threw it at the Talking-Cricket.
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