She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. "I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified. “It’s my fault. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. Cathy and Larry were working late, and Mike and Shari had begun jobs themselves, Mike delivering pizza and Shari working at Victoria’s Secret. I haven’t taken much account of it until now. I know nothing of that young lady.
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