Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. “I supposed that he took off his hat to you. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. She took to listening through closed doors. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this.
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