It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. “My wife. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts.
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