“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. At last the panel swung back into the library. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. But his grief was of short duration. He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. " "He's coming!" cried Jack, stamping his foot, with vexation. 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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