The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. . Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. "There!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me again.
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