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who knows better how to be agreeable, in a woman’s society, than
you do.” “Go on,” said Sydney Carton.

“No; but before I go on,” said Stryver, shaking his head in his
bullying way, “I’ll have this out with you. You’ve been at Doctor
Manette’s house as much as I have, or more than I have. Why, I
have been ashamed of your moroseness there! Your manners have
been of that silent and sullen and hangdog kind, that, upon my life
and soul, I have been ashamed of you, Sydney!” “It should be very
beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be ashamed of
anything,” returned Sydney; “you ought to be much obliged to
me.” “You shall not get off in that way,” rejoined Stryver,
shouldering the rejoinder at him; “no, Sydney, it’s my duty to tell
you-and I tell you to your face to do you good-that you are a de-
vilish ill-conditioned fellow in that sort of society. You are a
disagreeable fellow.” Sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had
made, and laughed.

“Look at me!” said Stryver, squaring himself; “I have less need to
make myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in
circumstances. Why do I do it?” “I never saw you do it yet,”
muttered Carton.

“I do it because it’s politic; I do it on principle. And look at me! I
get on.” “You don’t get on with your account of your matrimonial
intentions,” answered Carton, with a careless air; “I wish you
would keep to that. As to me-will you never understand that I am
incorrigible?” He asked the question with some appearance of

“You have no business to be incorrigible,” was his friend’s answer,
delivered in no very soothing tone.

“I have no business to be, at all, that I know of,” said Sydney
Carton. “Who is the lady?” “Now, don’t let my announcement of
the name make you uncomfortable, Sydney,” said Mr. Stryver,
preparing him with ostentatious friendliness for the disclosure he
was about to make, “because I know you don’t mean half you say;
and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. I make this
little preface, because you once mentioned the young lady to me in
slighting terms.” “I did?” “Certainly; and in these chambers.”
Sydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent
friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend.

“You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The
young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any
sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I
might have been a little resentful of your employing such a
designation; but you are not. You want that sense altogether;
therefore I am no more annoyed when I think of the expression,
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