Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. I’d need to be out of my senses. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. 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. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear.
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