"Sonsie!" she repeats, giggling. Sans-ci, she says it, more or less; what a funny word, to mean -- oh, pretty, or good, or something! And they're going somewhere where people speak like that, even if they won't actually meet any people who do. She's going to Scotland! To Mary's home! Out the door of Milliways to somewhere else entirely, for a lovely little picnic adventure with her lovely dear friend!
She follows along, and then, oh, they're there. They really are.
And it's a dull, drab, chilly stone storeroom, like a basement except for that lone high window, but it's an adventure of a storeroom, it's a storeroom in a medieval Scottish castle. Cosette looks around, open-mouthed and struck silent for a moment.
She knew what they planned. But it didn't feel real, not quite, until just now, when she stepped into a chilly room like nowhere she's ever been.
She turns slowly, looking around herself, caught between a bubbling, giddy excitement and a dislocated strangeness that makes her feel very small and uncertain.
And then she catches Mary's eye -- dear Mary, who's grinning, who always dresses like this, whose home (lonely, perhaps a little unhappy, far from France) this is -- and all of a sudden she's giggling, giggling.
"I'm sorry! It's only -- here we are, here we really are! And it's a castle, and I'm only little Cosette -- and here I am, tucking myself away in a storeroom!"
She couldn't quite explain why that's so funny, but suddenly it is. She feels like a stowaway here, in a strange world, in a castle where a little person like her would never belong: very well, she is! Stowaway in a storeroom! And they shall have a picnic and a lovely time in their dusty storeroom, they'll make it the happiest room in the whole castle.
She seizes Mary's hands impetuously, glowingly pleased. "Oh, my dear, what a grand adventure!"
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She follows along, and then, oh, they're there. They really are.
And it's a dull, drab, chilly stone storeroom, like a basement except for that lone high window, but it's an adventure of a storeroom, it's a storeroom in a medieval Scottish castle. Cosette looks around, open-mouthed and struck silent for a moment.
She knew what they planned. But it didn't feel real, not quite, until just now, when she stepped into a chilly room like nowhere she's ever been.
She turns slowly, looking around herself, caught between a bubbling, giddy excitement and a dislocated strangeness that makes her feel very small and uncertain.
And then she catches Mary's eye -- dear Mary, who's grinning, who always dresses like this, whose home (lonely, perhaps a little unhappy, far from France) this is -- and all of a sudden she's giggling, giggling.
"I'm sorry! It's only -- here we are, here we really are! And it's a castle, and I'm only little Cosette -- and here I am, tucking myself away in a storeroom!"
She couldn't quite explain why that's so funny, but suddenly it is. She feels like a stowaway here, in a strange world, in a castle where a little person like her would never belong: very well, she is! Stowaway in a storeroom! And they shall have a picnic and a lovely time in their dusty storeroom, they'll make it the happiest room in the whole castle.
She seizes Mary's hands impetuously, glowingly pleased. "Oh, my dear, what a grand adventure!"