Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. She struggled fiercely not to give way. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. "In wine there is truth. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. You are going to be generous and forgive. ‘That’s better.
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