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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens


35

“You think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentleman so
retired?” “I think it necessary to turn the key.” Monsieur Defarge
whispered it closer in his ear, and frowned heavily.

“Why?” “Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he
would be frightenedrave-tear himself to pieces-die-come to I
know not what harm-if his door was left open.” “Is it possible!”
exclaimed Mr. Lorry.

“Is it possible!” repeated Defarge, bitterly. “Yes. And a beautiful
world we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such
things are possible, and not only possible, but done-done, see
you!- under that sky there, every day. Long live the Devil. Let us
go on.” This dialogue had been held in so very low a whisper, that
not a word of it had reached the young lady’s ears. But, by this
time she trembled under such strong emotion, and her face
expressed such deep anxiety, and, above all, such dread and terror,
that Mr. Lorry felt it incumbent on him to speak a word or two of
reassurance.

“Courage, dear miss! Courage! Business! The worst will be over in
a moment; it is but passing the room-door, and the worst is over.
Then, all the good you bring to him, all the relief, all the happiness
you bring to him, begin. Let our good friend here, assist you on
that side. That’s well, friend Defarge. Come, now.

Business, business!” They went up slowly and softly. The staircase
was short, and they were soon at the top. There, as it had an abrupt
turn in it, they came all at once in sight of three men, whose heads
were bent down close together at the side of a door, and who were
intently looking into the room to which the door belonged, through
some chinks or holes in the wall. On hearing footsteps close at
hand, these three turned, and rose, and showed themselves to be
the three of one name who had been drinking in the wine-shop.

“I forgot them in the surprise of your visit,” explained Monsieur
Defarge.

“Leave us, good boys; we have business here.” The three glided by,
and went silently down.

There appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper
of the wineshop going straight to this one when they were left
alone, Mr. Lorry asked him in a whisper, with a little anger: “Do
you make a show of Monsieur Manette?” “I show him, in the way
you have seen, to a chosen few.” “Is that well?” “I think it is well.”
“Who are the few? How do you choose them?” “I choose them as
real men, of my name-Jacques is my name-to whom the sight is
likely to do good. Enough; you are English; that is another thing.
Stay there, if you please, a little moment.” With an admonitory
gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and looked in through the
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