They had cried a little, both. His tone was rough, almost threatening. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. I'd like to be alone now. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. But I suppose as I’ll have to wait until you can hear me to tell you again. Be frank, I beg you, Miss Pellissier. I did not even know where to write and thank you.
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