What I also wanted to say but didn't have time to last night because I wanted to watch a movie, is that I appreciated the strip of fabric Thenardier tore out of the coat to keep just in case, when he was robbing Marius. Because I'd read through the entire sewer passage, twice, very carefully, without catching sight therein of Marat's shroud, in any state of preservation: it had gone, while I'd been longing for a glimpse. Frustration. Would it get me down? The whiff of failure, the tinny ring of cheat--the same old conditions, normally, of my environment: would they prevail? No, they would not. Scrap for scrap, shroud to frock coat, Marat to Marius Pontmercy (Baron): I'd be satisfied enough, but the dedicated chapter title makes it feel extra special.
Thank you, Victor Hugo.