She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. 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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