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. Folks don’t like ’em. It must be the dawn creeping in. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. It was decrepit and too large.
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