’ He reddened a little, and shuffled his feet. I mean—I mean to do what I can. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. “Carolyn loves ‘Fiddler on the Roof. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. As the movie reached its predictable apex, she clutched his right knee in a careful imitation of fear. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. 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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