Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. You don't want me to spoil the story, do you?" "No. There was going to be no quarter between these two. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. The signal of distress was evidently understood. "She is saying that you, a woman, will readily understand the position in which she finds herself.
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