‘You said it. 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. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. Capes?” she heard her aunt saying. . Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. She had made her first fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was how the universe had treated her.
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