I have pleaded with her—no wonder that I have pleaded with her in vain. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. . Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said.
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