Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. “I changed my last shilling yesterday. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. The first Step towards the Ladder. 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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