Tell me why you ran away from the convent. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. 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. ’ He sighed. "Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern.
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