She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. 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. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. Miss Mary to the life.
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