" "But don't ever swim off the main beach without someone with you. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. I saw it this morning in the Daily Journal—an advertisement, offering a reward—" "A reward!" echoed Jack. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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