Il dort. Quoique le sort fut pour lui bien etrange, Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n'eut plus son ange. La chose simplement d'elle-meme arriva, Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s'en va.[71]

“She had spears of straw and grass in her hair, not like Ophelia gone mad throug…”

“Chapter1M. Myriel”

“Pierce through the livid face of a human being at certain moments as they ponde…”

“The arms of mothers are made of tenderness; in them children sleep profoundly.”