" CHAPTER IX. Smith, "upon my conscience. Then he paused. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. What was their surprise to find it vacant, and the prisoner gone! Jonathan, could scarcely believe his eyes. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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