The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. "There is something in The Tale of Two Cities that is wonderful," she said. I know what I am talking about. You haven’t an idea what the sort of employment you could get there would be like, the sort of people you would be mixed up with. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost.
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