The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. "Come along, Mrs. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. 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. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens.
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