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. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. "What's to be done next?" cried Blueskin, returning to Rachel, who was standing with Edgeworth Bess near the door. "Ah! I see. . ’ ‘I like that,’ Gerald protested. Where is this undistinguished husband?’ Leaping to his feet he seized his sword hilt and partly withdrew it from its sheath, saying dramatically, ‘I shall kill him immediately!’ Her eyes widened, but she did not move.
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