“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. ” “Nor I,” said Ann Veronica. “Tell him that he is mad. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. 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.
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