“You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. 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. Can't I make you see?" "But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. And I want you for myself—for my wife. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. "He will pull through?" "Positively.
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