The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. You won't have him long. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. He unlocked himself from her embrace.
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