‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. \"Do you want a snack?\" \"No thanks. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. . Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page.
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