“Tell me,” he said; “speak to me. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. " "That isn't the point, Hoddy. ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off. 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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