Charcoal. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton.
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