Mrs. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. "He's safe enough, I assure you. ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone. “Yes. 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. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult.
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