[While he is faintly aware that all of this is fabricated, his senses make a fool of his mind. The people jostling against him in the temple had felt true to life, the rage marring their countenances and the clamor of their shouts as real as anything Jean Valjean has seen and heard. The stench of the branded flesh had curled his nose, the wretchedness of the prisoners had cut him to the bone. But real or not, he feels a sense of duty to this girl.
This side of the hill is covered in grass that reaches past his calves and through it sprawl clusters of shrubs. As he weaves his way down, he periodically checks to see how she is managing.]
No, I haven't any reason to join in their hatred. I am one like yourself, who was saved from the Storm and brought to that station.
[In the near distance, nestled among the hills, is a swath of the village. Modest houses squat on fenced-in parcels of land with a patchwork of lanes connecting it all. It is hard to know where might provide sanctuary, of the mob at the temple represents the regnant view of the town.]
sorry for the delay
This side of the hill is covered in grass that reaches past his calves and through it sprawl clusters of shrubs. As he weaves his way down, he periodically checks to see how she is managing.]
No, I haven't any reason to join in their hatred. I am one like yourself, who was saved from the Storm and brought to that station.
[In the near distance, nestled among the hills, is a swath of the village. Modest houses squat on fenced-in parcels of land with a patchwork of lanes connecting it all. It is hard to know where might provide sanctuary, of the mob at the temple represents the regnant view of the town.]