She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. She attacked his hair resolutely. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. He then made off.
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