And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. It worked. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton.
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