By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘You can’t prove nothing. I never forgive an injury.
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