Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. "Perhaps he means well. ’ Gerald grinned. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. But you belong to me—and I want you. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. I want you.
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