Esmeralda lay limp between Quasimodo's hands like a piece of white cloth, but he held her with such care he appeared to be afraid she might break or whither like a flower. Then, all at once, he would hug her to his bony chest as if she were his, the only thing he had in the world, his treasure. At this sight the whole crowd stamped with enthusiasm, for at that moment Quasimodo actually had a beauty of his own. Quasimodo, the orphan, the foundling, the outcast, had the appearence of noble grandeur. From the top of the tower which housed the great bell he seemed to show the girl triumphantly to the whole city and his thunderous voice roared savagedly up at the sky,
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!"
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