CHAPTER XVI. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Senior year started with a whimper. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. No, not one little bit. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. But, you see, I’m smirched. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “In the event of his death we should require you at once to attend at the inquest. ” He faced her doggedly. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out.
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