Have you ever been on the edge of your seat with a book, having flung all of your emotion into one specific outcome, and all you can do is wait, fervently, for that outcome to come to pass?
This passage is what I'm currently hinging my hopes and the life of my manicure:
“My dear friend, I have a charmed life in this city. I have been a Bastille prisoner. There is no patriot in Paris—in Paris? In France—who, knowing me to have been a prisoner in the Bastille, would touch me, except to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me in triumph. My old pain has given me a power that has brought us through the barrier, and gained us news of Charles there, and brought us here. I knew it would be so; I knew I could help Charles out of all danger; I told Lucie so.—What is that noise?” His hand was again upon the window."
Aside from that, the last couple of chapters have lost some 'sparkle' for me...Dickens has spent less time telling me this story through the lens of his characters and given more voice to the narrator, but not in a way I'm wowed by.