" "Mrs. Melusine cursed herself for his injury. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. You understand. She traced him by his scent. 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. Vee’s all right. Or else I would have finished him. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example.
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