“I have come for an explanation,” she said. You came to see me in the hospital. “I want to be your friend,” he said. Hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly obtained, Thames returned to the room to apprize Winifred of his good fortune. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. 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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