“I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. “You needn’t say a word more,” Mr. "If there is any honour in you, stop and think. “I’ll bring it to-morrow. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. That blow made me a thief. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. 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.
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