The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. She kept her face downcast. I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. ‘Don’t tell me. “I’m sorry. “Please let me drive you home. I did not lay any traps for her.
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