What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. “What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. John, I have something to say to you. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers.
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