Already Cosette was her chosen friend. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. “Have you not heard?” she said. Every day in the year you will witness such scenes. "Search him and iron him afresh;" commanded Jonathan.
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