‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. I’ll pay it. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks. 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. Wood had been my father, as well as yours.
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