” “I do not know who he is,” Brendon said quietly, “but he will not forget. One could go to him and tell him one loved him. May I know your name?’ The lady eyed him. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness.
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