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There is always some one to say the word which sums all up.
Lord Scarsdale translated the impression of the assembly in one
exclamation,--
"
What is the monster doing here?"
Gwynplaine stood up, dismayed and indignant, in a sort of final
convulsion. He looked at them all fixedly.
"What am I doing here? I have come to be a terror to you! I am a
monster, do you say? No! I am the people! I am an exception? No! I am
the rule; you are the exception! You are the chimera; I am the reality!
I am the frightful man who laughs! Who laughs at what? At you, at
himself, at everything! What is his laugh? Your crime and his torment!
That crime he flings at your head! That punishment he spits in your
face! I laugh, and that means I weep!"
He paused. There was less noise. The laughter continued, but it was more
subdued. He may have fancied that he had regained a certain amount of
attention. He breathed again, and resumed,--
"This laugh which is on my face a king placed there. This laugh
expresses the desolation of mankind. This laugh means hate, enforced
silence, rage, despair. This laugh is the production of torture. This
laugh is a forced laugh. If Satan were marked with this laugh, it would
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