She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. The door closed softly upon her. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. “We’ve made out but we haven’t had sex. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. I am used, you understand, to guard my secret. What I said about your brat was all stuff. I am not prying for my own amusement. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection.
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