"Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. The other must call a coach as quickly as he can. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Wood in the deepest mourning. What news. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. They fell into step again. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey.
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