“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads.
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