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“Don’t torture a poor forlorn wretch,” he implored them, with a
dreadful cry; “but give me my work! What is to become of us, if
those shoes are not done tonight?” Lost, utterly lost!

It was so clearly beyond hope to reason with him, or try to restore
him,- thatas if by agreement-they each put a hand upon his
shoulder, and soothed him to sit down before the fire, with a
promise that he should have his work presently.

He sank into the chair, and brooded over the embers, and shed
tears. As if all that had happened since the garret time were a
momentary fancy, or a dream, Mr. Lorry saw him shrink into the
exact figure that Defarge had had in keeping.

Affected, and impressed with terror as they both were, by this
spectacle of ruin, it was not a time to yield to such emotions. His
lonely daughter, bereft of her final hope and reliance, appealed to
them both too strongly. Again, as if by agreement, they looked at
one another with one meaning in their faces. Carton was the first to
speak: “The last chance is gone: it was not much. Yes; he had
better be taken to her.

But, before you go, will you, for a moment, steadily attend to me?
Don’t ask me why I make the stipulations I am going to make, and
exact the promise I am going to exact; I have a reason-a good one.”
“I do not doubt it,” answered Mr. Lorry. “Say on.” The figure in
the chair between them, was all the time monotonously rocking
itself to and fro, and moaning. They spoke in such a tone as they
would have used if they had been watching by a sick-bed in the

Carton stooped to pick up the coat, which lay almost entangling his
feet. As he did so, a small case in which the Doctor was
accustomed to carry the lists of his day’s duties, fell lightly on the
floor. Carton took it up, and there was a folded paper in it. “We
should look at this!” he said. Mr. Lorry nodded his consent. He
opened it, and exclaimed, “Thank GOD!” “What is it?” asked Mr.
Lorry, O eagerly
“A moment! Let me speak of it in its place. First,” he put his hand
in his coat, and took another paper from it, “that is the certificate
which enables me to pass out of this city. Look at it. You see-
Sydney Carton, an Englishman?” Mr. Lorry held it open in his
hand, gazing in his earnest face.

“Keep it for me until to-morrow. I shall see him to-morrow, you
remember, and I had better not take it into the prison.” “Why not?”
“I don’t know; I prefer not to do so. Now, take this paper that
Doctor Manette has carried about him. It is a similar certificate,
enabling him and his daughter and her child, at any time, to pass
the barrier and the frontier! You see?” “Yes!” “Perhaps he obtained
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