A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. The Ragged Edge. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. Already Cosette was her chosen friend.
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