Lesgle nods at "skipping much of it." He'd avoided what he could, jumping to the place Bahorel had marked, but even so some words had jumped out.

Valjean. Cosette.

He wants to know. He doesn't want to know.

He leafs ahead to another spot Bahorel had marked, and reads with thinned lips. "No great respecter of privacy, is Hugo. --Ah, hell, Bahorel. What do you mean to do with this? I'm tempted to throw it into the fire, you know. Except you haven't a fire here. And it would be mere theater."