“It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. It is a matter of degree. 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. None presented themselves to save him from that return.
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