Lucy paced outside of the stone bricked room until her mother began to scream. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck. 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. “I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg.
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