She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. She sings better perhaps. ” Ann Veronica opened her lips quickly and did not speak. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. “Come this way,” he said. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. No tricks would serve. Not I. 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. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Mr. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe.
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