We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home. She still had her letter of credit. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. 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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