Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Remember?’ ‘Parbleu,’ came from his still struggling victim. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. She has no proof—yet. His grip twisted her wrist. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. She had trembled on the verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made it.
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