But she felt his lax figure become rigid. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. I made it a point to bring beachcombers to the house to fill her with horror of mankind. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. , and go home before you have to. ” He complained, handing it, case and all, to Lucy. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. ‘You are stubborn like a mule. She was carefree. Perhaps it was loneliness.
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