Except he was the only idiot who would stay. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. It was not that the servants could not, they simply preferred to. “Good God!” he exclaimed. 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 is difficult to express these things. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn.
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