The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to Lady Trafford. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. It will do its best to overlook things—” “If we let it, poor dear. After all, she was a consummate actress. Wood's house was broken into and plundered. Yes, I can readily believe it.
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