The sight of her makes my gut twist. Ugly puny thing, feckless, useless. I must have been mad. I work myself to the bone, trying to keep my baby girls decently, the one thing I don't need is this nameless brat hanging round, having to be fed, taking up space. I wish I'd never laid eyes on her.

Little rat, little bitch-- staring at me like that, I swear she never even blinks. Gives me the creeps. --What the devil are you looking at? Nothing, madame, I'll give you nothing, madame, butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, would it? Like your mother; those big blue eyes, that pretty face, must have worked wonders on the men. God knows she took me in. But you won't get round me. I'm not that soft.

Look at her sniveling there. Mother of God, she makes me sick. She thinks herself ill-used, does she, she thinks she has it hard? Little bastard has a roof over her head, and more than she deserves, at that. There's plenty would have turned her out a year ago. I would, for two pins, but monsieur won't have that, not to our advantage, he says. Whatever he means by that. You're the one who took the brat in, he says.

Well, that's true. It was a fine day; I watched her in that sweet little bonnet, playing with Eponine, and I thought...

But no. She's worse than useless; she's a dead weight, dragging us down, and don't I have enough to do?