If she could have held it in, perhaps the Virgin Mary would have sent her a miracle as reward for her strength. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. ‘Me and the butler didn’t see eye to eye. “Will they worry about you getting caught in a storm?” She asked him as she viewed black clouds floating in different directions. I made the pies.
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