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Updated: June 15, 2025
The urchin's profound remark recalled Montparnasse to calmness and good sense. He appeared to return to better sentiments with regard to Gavroche's lodging. "Of course," said he, "yes, the elephant. Is it comfortable there?" "Very," said Gavroche. "It's really bully there. There ain't any draughts, as there are under the bridges." "How do you get in?" "Oh, I get in."
A glance around the next corner, and Richard just caught a glimpse of the urchin's head as it disappeared down a cellar way. Rushing to the spot, he was compelled to pause. He was far down on a side street that was little better than an alley-way.
She had just taken her accustomed position, when the hedgehog, pushing the reeds aside, became aware of the strong scent on the margin of the pond. The hungry "urchin's" intelligence, though limited, at once suggested that the scent of a mothering bird might lead to a clutch of delicious eggs, or to a brood of plump and juicy nestlings.
Nor was it the least provoking part of the urchin's conduct, that he did not exert his utmost speed, like one who finds himself in danger, or who is frightened, but preserved just such a rate as to encourage Tressilian to continue the chase, and then darted away from him with the swiftness of the wind, when his pursuer supposed he had nearly run him down, doubling at the same time, and winding, so as always to keep near the place from which he started.
Sometimes an urchin passed us on his way to the grist mill, astride a bag of corn, riding some ancient patriarchal horse which, out of a wisdom of years, refused to mend his gait for all the kicking of the urchin's naked heels. And we hailed him for a cavalier.
During the three weeks of her illness she had thus many times turned towards the city that stretched away to the horizon. Her face grew grave, she was musing. At this last hour Paris was smiling under the glittering April sunshine. Warm breezes entered from without, with bursts of urchin's laughter and the chirping of sparrows.
And with that he tenderly pressed the little urchin's head to his breast and murmured: "Ah! he is my very grandson, my own flesh and blood." He was well aware how aggravated all the others would be at these words. Meanwhile the footman was laying a table. This table was of palisander wood and supported by the semblance of a swan.
We sped across Gray's Ferry bridge it seems strange to think that region was once so quiet, green, and rustic transferred to another car on Woodland Avenue, past the white medley of tombstones in Woodland Cemetery, and got off at the entrance to the dormitory quadrangles at Thirty-seventh Street. We entered through the archway the Urchin's first introduction to an academic atmosphere.
Richard looked at the boy sharply. He had been deceived so many times that he was half inclined to discredit the urchin's story. "It's the truth, mister," went on the boy, seeing the look of distrust. "I ain't tellin' no lies, so help " "What's your name?" "Pep, sir." "Pep what?" The urchin held down his head. "I ain't got no other name!" he answered hesitatingly.
Jo was in the middle of an enthusiastic "Oh!" when the urchin's head appeared.
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