Jonathan laughed scornfully. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. Come and help me pack. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. “I’ll be hanged if I do. " Jonathan made no reply, but ordered his myrmidons to drag the prisoner along. Which is why I wasn’t able to see him until today. Be silent, I say, if you value his safety. . But I proved it to them! Oh yeah, I told John, but I don’t think he believes me either. 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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