Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. Such a mystery as you have set up. It was decrepit and too large. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. These particulars are familiar to all, who have any title to the knowledge. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Lucy wore it every day from then on. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQyLjE3Mi4xNjAgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDEwOjE2OjMxIC0gMzQwMzM5OTY0
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