But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. Forgive me. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. Nobody who cared. 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. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room.
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