The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She could not help but swoon a little. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. “Get out of the car. She refused to eat. What a heat that news had wrought. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. His father spoke for him. "I'll now pay the debt I owe you," cried Jack, tightening his grip till the thieftaker blackened in the face. 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.
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