Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. “Okay, Mom. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. gutenberg. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns. “I won’t give you a check though—Yes, I will. . It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered.
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