Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. You don’t happen to know of any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or a clerk—without shorthand—or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or——” “For Heaven’s sake stop, Miss Pellissier,” he interrupted. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand.
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