I want to make my own selection. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. He speaks English. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions.
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