They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. When he tried the scullery door, and would have moved on, Hilary intervened. “I don’t know. 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.
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