At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. “I feel shabby and disgraced. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. . He had been quite right to sit down.
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