Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. Jackson, to the swig. Besides, those things are deadly. Damn! I’ve splashed. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said.
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