Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen.
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