Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but there was another character which bit far more deeply into her mind. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. She drew it out with shaking fingers. ‘And it is me you dare accuse? It is yourself you should arrest. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended.
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