“You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. "But you've done well to trust me. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. .
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