Well, I think it remains to be left open whether she really thought he was hot but the thing with the Patron Minette being well-disposed towards Thénardier and is family is certainly an element.She is permitting herself to be used however he wants, possibly because he's hot and because the good graces of Patron Minette are the only thing keeping the Thenardier family from all rotting in jail because her father is really crap at this. It's prostitution rather than rape, in that there is consent on the basis of potential gain.
But I also think he's that sort who would never go begging to a subordinate because his self-respect wouldn't allow it.
MusicalTwin wrote: today one might even concider the pure act of doing these errands (getting to the peoples' homes, handing them the letters, begging for support in that way) as "prostitution".
I'm not entirely sure whether she really could easily disappear into any other slum quarters (if I got it right what you meant by that). No doubt she wouldn't, even if she could have. But seriously: I wonder if Thénardier would have let such a profitable way of "income" such as her just elope. Would he? I mean... wouldn't he at least try to get her back? But anyway, I still agree that she really doesn't want to (on one hand because of her sister and mother and on the other hand because of her father's cycle of psychological abuse).
Beezer wrote:I've always been a little put off by the boppers, but I was probably guilty of overcompensating with a Misery Sue.
MusicalTwin wrote:I'm going to take the time to read your fanfic. I'm quite excited about it. *g* I'll let you know what I think.
Cosette did not know what love was. She had never heard the word uttered in its terrestrial sense. On the books of profane music which entered the convent, amour (love) was replaced by tambour (drum) or pandour. This created enigmas which exercised the imaginations of the big girls, such as: Ah, how delightful is the drum! or, Pity is not a pandour. But Cosette had left the convent too early to have occupied herself much with the "drum." Therefore, she did not know what name to give to what she now felt. Is any one the less ill because one does not know the name of one's malady?
She loved with all the more passion because she loved ignorantly. She did not know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, useful or dangerous, eternal or temporary, allowable or prohibited; she loved. She would have been greatly astonished, had any one said to her: "You do not sleep? But that is forbidden! You do not eat? Why, that is very bad! You have oppressions and palpitations of the heart? That must not be! You blush and turn pale, when a certain being clad in black appears at the end of a certain green walk? But that is abominable!" She would not have understood, and she would have replied: "What fault is there of mine in a matter in which I have no power and of which I know nothing?"
Also, Cosette is attracted to shiny things, and Éponine, not so shiny. Plus might come with hints of nasty memories that have been repressed.
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