"I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton.
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