She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. He donned his winter coat.
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