What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. 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. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air.
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