"By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. 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. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. The light disappeared. I meant to give him a drubbing. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.
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