Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. She looked in the rear-view mirror. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers.
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