‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but there was another character which bit far more deeply into her mind. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes.
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