” “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs. “Lucy, that is so sad. They WERE weird. Pah! What a pig is this générale. 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. Anna sent her away.
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