Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. After quarter of an hour, she followed. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. We'll get those books into your room first. 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. ‘Was this when Nicholas commended you to this Abbess?’ ‘But, yes.
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