“Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol.
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