“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. This is your room. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. ‘That’s wicked, that is. I have suffered him to be brought up decently—honestly; because I would make his fall the greater, and deepen the wound I meant to inflict upon his mother. ” Ann Veronica was silent for a while.
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