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They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. Where is he?" "Within this room," replied the knight. ’ But I made sure it was you.
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