’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays.
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