The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. 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. “Then you need to find someone else. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. “I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling.
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