Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. "I can do without it," muttered Jack.
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