Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but there was another character which bit far more deeply into her mind.
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