Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. She became more and more alive, not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. "He's safe enough, I assure you. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand.
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