He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. ‘Do you at least know how he came to be in a position to cheat Miss Charvill, and to pass off his wife in her place?’ ‘In her place?’ There was no mistaking the boy’s ignorance of this part of the tale. Morality is a point of view. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. 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. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. He was snoring stupidly.
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