‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “Well, rather,” said Ann Veronica. “Ugh!” she said. She thought her niece very hard and very self-possessed and self-confident. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. Her faithful servant struggled, with her assistance, to rise. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. The police are concerned in it in either event. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. 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. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically.
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