She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively.

She rose briskly, turned on the light, and opened Les Miserables to the episode of the dark forest: where Jean Valjean reaches out and takes Cosette's frightful pail from her chapped little hands.
There must be persons tender and loving in this world.

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.

Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama.

They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy.