"I began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune must have befallen him. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. ‘Don’t be silly. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. I bring you tidings of an old friend.
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