Already Cosette was her chosen friend. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Little did he know that she had begged her parents as a youngster to get her a language tutor. On your own. I'll try to think better of him in future. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional.
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