‘Yes, only that this consolation he had found before he married my mother. Do not oppose it, and I will serve you. She wedged the towel between her legs. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. He is Jacques. 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. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said.
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