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For she knew that men married to get something. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. ” He held out his hand obediently. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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