She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. “One can talk without undertones, so to speak,” said Ramage. You see, I’m selfish. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. A time may come,—and that ere long,—when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions. A strong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made my blood run cold with terror. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. As a consequence of its small size, it was possible to get along with the work on a much easier and more colloquial footing than a larger class would have permitted.
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