You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. That's a queer yarn. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. “Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. ’ ‘But it was not your fault,’ protested Gosse, shocked. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. She felt that she was not alone. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. ’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided.
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