She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. 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. “Poor old daddy! I wonder if he’ll spend much on the fatted calf?. " Life and Actions of Guzman d'Alfarache. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. She was my first love.
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