’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. ” “Well?” Anna remarked calmly. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. 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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