“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. Why should some things and not others open the deeps?” “Well, that might, after all, be an outcome of selection—like the preference for blue flowers, which are not nearly so bright as yellow, of some insects. E. ” “Do you?” “We were great friends at school. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. You've nothing to do but to take possession. Give me but leave to try. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. ’ ‘Ah, but I have a special reason for doing so this time. I'll try a strong dose.
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