The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. . B. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion.
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