[Javert is struck silent, humbled, his pupils darting over an invisible manuscript. What manner of dreadful place did Hannibal come from? All he does is slowly lean against the backrest and tilt his chin up, his lids lowering again to the body on the floor in contemplation. He smiles thinly.]
Send my beard out to sea, Monsieur. Lord in Heaven above knows I am overdue for a shave.
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Send my beard out to sea, Monsieur. Lord in Heaven above knows I am overdue for a shave.