Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ’ The lady frowned suspiciously. You’re mine. " "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. I never could. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. Charcoal. It hit her just above the knee. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. Wild, he asserted, had robbed him of a large sum of money, and till it was restored he would never plead. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs.
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