The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. “You certainly are. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. Let me see now. They’ve just got to keep white. The stench is everywhere. No matter.
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