Yet you knew that I was not dead. 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. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand.
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