" "No—no," laughed Jack. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. But when she learns that you are a fugitive from justice…. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. Dunster shall fetch you a cab. ‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. Miss Charvill. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. Permit me to introduce myself.
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