Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. In concealing himself behind the timber, Mr. “Now, there, there. " "It is," answered Wood. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. " "If you stir, I'll call him!" rejoined Winifred. Mr. .
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