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They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. 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. He tried to make love to me. She rang again with the same result.
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