’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. ’ ‘You can arrest me,’ answered Kimble belligerently, ‘but you can’t make me say nothing about her. ” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again. . At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. The fates are never so kind to me. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. 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. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself.
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