If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. 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. . He looked at her, hurt.
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