” Sydney looked at her doubtfully. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. . . She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. ‘Let her go.
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