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“It is all I could do,” said Carton. “To propose too much, would be
to put this man’s head under the axe, and, as he himself said,
nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was
obviously the weakness of the position. There is no help for it.”
“But access to him,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it should go ill before the
Tribunal, will not save him.” “I never said it would.”

Mr. Lorry’s eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his
darling, and the heavy disappointment of his second arrest,
gradually weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne
with anxiety of late, and his tears fell.

“You are a good man and a true friend,” said Carton, in an altered
voice. “Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see
my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your
sorrow more, if you were my father.

You are free from that misfortune, however.” Though he said the
last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there was a true
feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr.
Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly
unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed

“To return to to poor Darnay,” said Carton. “Don’t tell Her of this
interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see
him. She might think it was contrived, in case of the worse, to
convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence.” Mr. Lorry
had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see if it
were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and
evidently understood it.

“She might think a thousand things,” Carton said, “and any of
them would only add to her trouble. Don’t speak of me to her. As I
said to you when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my
hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can
find to do, without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be
very desolate to-night.” “I am going now, directly.” “I am glad of
that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance on you.
How does she look?” “Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.”
“Ah!” It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh-almost like a sob.
It attracted Mr. Lorry’s eyes to Carton’s face, which was turned to
the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said
which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-
side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of
the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the
white riding-coat and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the
fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his
long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His
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