The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. Also he is ugly. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter.
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