Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Earles watched her anxiously. Adjoining it was the Lower Ward,—"Though, in what degree of latitude it was situated," observes Ned Ward, "I cannot positively demonstrate, unless it lay ninety degrees beyond the North Pole; for, instead of being dark there but half a year, it is dark all the year round. Fifty in advance. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. ‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions. Not for me. A bumper round, gentlemen. His condition is not unfavourable, but there may be a relapse at any moment. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her. Why not kill her here, and leave silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention to kill her? En tout cas, it gave her a chance.
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