"Alone?" "Not exactly, Sir. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré. 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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