Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. "Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs. Her heart ached; and that puzzled her. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. You never can go back. 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.
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