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the wearer’s knees. When he stopped for drink, he moved this
muffler with his left hand, only while he poured his liquor in with
his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again.

“No, Jerry, no!” said the messenger, harping on one theme as he
rode. “It wouldn’t do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it
wouldn’t suit your line of business! Recalled-! Bust me if I don’t
think he’d been a drinking!” His message perplexed his mind to
that degree that he was fain, several times, to take off his hat to
scratch his head. Except on the crown, which was raggedly bald,
he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, and growing
down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like Smith’s
work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a
head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have
declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.
While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the
night watchman in his box at the door of Tellson’s Bank, by
Temple Bar, who was to deliver it to greater authorities within, the
shadows of the night took such shapes to him as arose out of the
message, and took such shapes to the mare as arose out of her
private topics of uneasiness. They seemed to be numerous, for she
shied at every shadow on the road.

What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped
upon its tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To
whom, likewise, the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in
the forms their dozing eyes and wandering thoughts suggested.
Tellson’s Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank
passenger-with an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which
did what lay in it to keep him from pounding against the next
passenger, and driving him into his corner, whenever the coach got
a special jolt-nodded in his place, with half-shut eyes, the little
coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly gleaming through
them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became the
bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the harness
was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five
minutes than even Tellson’s with all its foreign and home
connection, ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms
underground, at Tellson’s, with such of their valuable stores and
secrets as were known to the passenger (and it was not a little that
he knew about them), opened before him, and he went in among
them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle, and found
them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last seen

But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the
coach (in a confused way, like the presence of pain under an
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