I hate children. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. Agents were dispersed in all directions—offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard. “Thank you,” she said coolly. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative.
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