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. “I’m fine,” she said softly. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. 1. You’ll never even see me again, for that 268 matter.
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