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The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. 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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This video was uploaded to pok-ddal23.live on 17-07-2024 03:54:48
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