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\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. They began to wrestle fiercely. "We must keep still. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. 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. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone.
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