" The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. " "And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked Wood. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering.
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