‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. She came to me in a dream. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. One day she desisted from her search and went unexpectedly to the Tredgold College. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed.
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