pgdp. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. ” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr. 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. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. And it had not shocked her! It was this appalling absence of indignation that had put terror into her heart. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island.
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