Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. For the first time a definite doubt possessed him. ” “Would you like to be a boy?” “I wonder! It’s out of the question, any way.
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