“Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becoming my wife. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set.
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