One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. Wood and Thames pass him, and followed at a foot's pace behind them. That might happen on her birthday—in August. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton.
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