Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full.
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