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“I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals. ” She looked at him quizzically. “They have no plans for us. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land.
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