“Ye Gods!” she said at last. The hansom drove off. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir.
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