"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. I know why. My father was Colonel Pellissier. It is really cheap, you know. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNC43MC4xMDQgLSAxMy0wNy0yMDI0IDAzOjA3OjE3IC0gMTI5ODM4ODMxNQ==
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