Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. We WERE thieves. Lost in thought, Lucy barely heard Mrs.
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