[He casts a wary eye over his shoulder, always expecting for someone to follow, to shout for him to stop, but none pay attention as they slip away in plain sight. The altar is difficult to see through the roiling mob of jeers and shouts, the prisoners thickly packed, the oppressors pushing at the oppressed. Yet through it all lacerates the screams of each victim. Jean Valjean shudders with the whole of his body; his heart curls like the brown leaves left at the end of autumn.
The very same heartbeat surges at once with gratitude that he could escape, that he could help this young man, and with guilt that he would abandon so many to such a fate.
They pass over the threshold of the temple and the night air gasps freshly against their faces.]
The cruelty of men is at times difficult to comprehend. But you must remember not to give into despair.
[He keeps his voice low; they are not yet in the clear, not until the temple has passed from sight.]
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The very same heartbeat surges at once with gratitude that he could escape, that he could help this young man, and with guilt that he would abandon so many to such a fate.
They pass over the threshold of the temple and the night air gasps freshly against their faces.]
The cruelty of men is at times difficult to comprehend. But you must remember not to give into despair.
[He keeps his voice low; they are not yet in the clear, not until the temple has passed from sight.]