As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. 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. “This is Mr. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop. ” “For the others,” Annabel said tearfully, “that is well enough. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass.
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