Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. Thanks. 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. The air was pungent and leaden. "Rather in the way. And there's your liver.
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