Naiade oil painting

traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets- much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror-he stopped at a chemist's shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man. ¡¡¡¡Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. "Whew!" the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. "Hi! hi! hi!" ¡¡¡¡Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said: ¡¡¡¡"For you, citizen?" ¡¡¡¡"For me." ¡¡
¡¡"You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?" Perfectly." ¡¡¡¡Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. "There is nothing more to do," said he, glancing upward at the moon, "until to-morrow. I can't sleep."