He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Barring that the Valade fellow had sneaked back. 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. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. " He stared at the agitated curtain; and slowly his chin sank until it touched his chest. ” Lucy yanked him into the hidden door to Room 109, a door to the backstage that looked like the entrance to a broom closet. There was no one else in the doorway. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said.
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