But her heart kept on sinking. Mrs. “You are quite right, I think. " And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began—with the tubbing of a stray yellow dog. 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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