‘As for you—’ ‘Do not address me. 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. Burn your palette and your easel. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. This—this shatters a world!” She tried to feel sorry, but her sense of his immense egotism was strong and clear. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. She was finally dead, going to Hell.
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