He had but one consolation, that she had loved him....and that perhaps, wherever she now was, in whatever undiscoverable place, she loved him still....Sometimes, in those unaccountable moments known to every lover, when the hearts feels a strange stirring of delight, although there is no cause for anything but grief, he reflected: It is her thoughts that are reaching me....And perhaps my thoughts are reaching her...Fancies such as these which an instant later he brushed aside, nevertheless sufficed to kindle a glow in him which was something near to hope. - Victor Hugo
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