"There is something in The Tale of Two Cities that is wonderful," she said. He looked at her reproachfully. ” She laughed. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. She could not help thinking of Capes. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Still silence everywhere. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me.
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