“No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. \" That again. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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