“Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor.
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