There was another little thing he had to say. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. “Yes. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. 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. She was my first love. . Let us be gone.
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