I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. She was fine and tender. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Michelle laughed, saying that she could only guess. ” He would say every time she wore it. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers.
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