But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. ” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ” “I am sorry,” said Ann Veronica. 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. At last—I told a story. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. Oh, it was very bad.
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