The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. A day will come when you will thank me.
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