A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. . "You shall never behold me alive. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. No! That was impossible. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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