She remembered having pretty hands once.
Now, as she looked at her thumb hardened by the needle and the multiple spots on her fingertips, she could not help feeling bitterness in her throat.
"Why did he go away? Why couldn't he stay?" she wondered sometimes as she struggled to make more shirts by the fading light of day.
It was on days like this that she'd begin to wonder what he'd think should they chance to meet again.
"Would he still know me? Would he still hold on my hands like she used to?" she asked herself time and again.
"Perhaps not" she thought. He probably remembered only delicate hands, a little calloused but still beautiful. Not the gnarled knottiness that were her fingers and her palms.
"But my angel would understand..." Fantine reminded herself as she combed out her hair. She was sure that despite everything, Cosette would still know the touch of her mother's hand.