’ ‘And now we know also who is the prétendant, Mademoiselle Charvill. Michelle found herself drowning in finals, and Lucy walked home alone the last week in obscurity and peace. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. She paused for a moment.
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