Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. It had been her home for hundreds of years. My wife—killed me. She gurgled. Ruth shivered; she was cold.
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