But it was otherwise with the carpenter. . The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. It had been a trying day. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. He called Enschede the Bellower. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. My profession has hardened me. You'd better lose no time.
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