He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. My feelings overpower me. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible.
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