She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page.
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