He called here on his way back, after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. The fashions of the day have become antiquated. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. The room was dark and dusty. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers.
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