Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The contact is disturbing; and we prefer going around the fact to facing it. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. “You don’t want to go?” “No. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. I was already established as Physician when your wedding day arrived. Courtlaw, is it not,” she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry.
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