CHAPTER VI Sidney Carton, thought Ruth, in pursuit of a sing-song girl! The idea was so incongruous that a cold little smile parted her lips. They will say that it was murder. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. Mrs. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal.
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