“Mid-thirties. He had been abusing them for a long time when I arrived. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. No one will ever love you as I love you now. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles.
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