“Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. But, though I cannot reward you, Heaven will.
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