[As, simply, Javert. In crisp, black ink.]
Quelle folie ce que c'est? Words, not my own, appearing on the page before me. The ramblings of a madman, my fellow inspecteurs would say, yet my eyes do not deceive me. A door, between two worlds, and a key to allow passage-- it defies all logic, all explanation, mais il est vrai.
[A pause, the pooling of ink.]
I find it unacceptable that my time is limited by a man who cares little for the law, though he claims to serve it.