Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast.
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