“I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. 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. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. ” “Please get off at the next exit. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. 265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. “Stop it!. .
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