Our ideal had fallen. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. It's infernally provoking. 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. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word.
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