‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. A young man, who had been spending the last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her.
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