How can she know? He turns frightened eyes to Marius, swimming in confusion, lost in sudden terror.
He is no saint. He is no martyr. He only ever wanted her to love him, and now she says none of it matters but that, and he should be happy but he is only terrified. How can she know? The question rings in his ears, just like the one she asked of him, once. Father, are they still men?
Convicts do not become men. They do not have daughters who are angels, or if they do it is because they steal them.
Valjean releases her from his grasp. His hand unconsciously goes to his uncovered wrist, closing around it like a shackle. And then he groans, and brings both hands up to cover his face, so that she might not see him weep.
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How can she know? He turns frightened eyes to Marius, swimming in confusion, lost in sudden terror.
He is no saint. He is no martyr. He only ever wanted her to love him, and now she says none of it matters but that, and he should be happy but he is only terrified. How can she know? The question rings in his ears, just like the one she asked of him, once. Father, are they still men?
Convicts do not become men. They do not have daughters who are angels, or if they do it is because they steal them.
Valjean releases her from his grasp. His hand unconsciously goes to his uncovered wrist, closing around it like a shackle. And then he groans, and brings both hands up to cover his face, so that she might not see him weep.