Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. "I suppose he'll be on his feet any day now. I had no right to marry you. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. " "Dear me!" sympathised Mrs. . It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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