Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
The corner being out of the way of the idle and curious, and the
preparations having been very simple and few, the Doctor, Mr.
Lorry, and Miss Pross, were left quite alone. It was when they
turned into the welcome shade of the cool old hall, that Mr. Lorry
observed a great change to have come over the Doctor; as if the
golden arm uplifted there, had struck him a poisoned blow.
He had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have
been expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone.
But, it was the old scared lost look that troubled Mr. Lorry; and
through his absent manner of clasping his head and drearily
wandering away into his own room when they got upstairs, Mr.
Lorry was reminded of Defarge the wine-shop keeper, and the
“I think,” he whispered to Miss Pross, after anxious consideration,
“I think we had best not speak to him just now, or at all disturb
him. I must look in at Tellson’s; so I will go there at once and come
back presently. Then, we will take him a ride into the country, and
dine there, and all will be well.” It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look
in at Tellson’s, than to look out of Tellson’s. He was detained two
hours. When he came back, he ascended the old staircase alone,
having asked no question of the servant; going thus into the
Doctor’s rooms, he was stopped by a low sound of knocking.
“Good God!” he said, with a start. “What’s that?” Miss Pross, with
a terrified face, was at his ear. “O me, O me! All is lost!” cried she,
wringing her hands. “What is to be told to Ladybird? He doesn’t
know me, and is making shoes!” Mr. Lorry said what he could to
calm her, and went himself into the Doctor’s room. The bench was
turned towards the light, as it had been when he had seen the
shoemaker at his work before, and his head was bent down, and he
was very busy.
“Doctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette!”
The Doctor looked at him for a moment-half inquiringly, half as if
he were angry at being spoken to-and bent over his work again.
He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open at the
throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the old
haggard, faded surface of face had come back to him. He worked
hard-impatiently-as if in some sense of having been interrupted.
Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that it
was a shoe of the old size and shape. He took up another that was
lying by him, and asked what it was.
“A young lady’s walking shoe,” he muttered, without looking up.
“It ought to have been finished long ago. Let it be.” “But, Doctor
Manette. Look at me!” He obeyed, in the old mechanically
submissive manner, without pausing in his work.