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What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. "Gentlemen," returned the Master, solemnly, "it is a question easily answered— they are NOWHERE! Had they hanged the bailiffs, the bailiffs would not have hanged them. 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 place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. It was the grand nursery of vice. He is in Newgate. Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me.
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