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He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. He's the only native I trust in these parts. "How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. It looked as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption—a world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of women over-ruled as a matter of course. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers.
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