She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. 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. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. You tell me he didn't like the stuff. ’ ‘Then leave me to guard myself, and do not ask me questions any more,’ she snapped, and crouched down suddenly, searching about for her dagger.
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