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Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father
went out, now reappeared, and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the
slackened interest, could easily get near him.

“Jerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. But, keep in
the way.

You will be sure to hear when the jury come in. Don’t be a moment
behind them, for I want you to take the verdict back to the bank.
You are the quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar
long before I can.” Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and
he knuckled it in acknowledgment of this communication and a
shilling. Mr. Carton came up at the moment, and touched Mr.
Lorry on the arm.

“How is the young lady?” “She is greatly distressed; but her father
is comforting her, and she feels the better for being out of court.”
“I’ll tell the prisoner so. It won’t do for a respectable bank
gentleman like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you
know.” Mr. Lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having
debated the point in his mind, and Mr. Carton made his way to the
outside of the bar. The way out of court lay in that direction, and
Jerry followed him, all eyes, ears, and spikes.

“Mr. Darnay!” The prisoner came forward directly.
“You will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, Miss
Manette. She will do very well. You have seen the worst of her
agitation.” “I am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could
you tell her so for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?” “Yes, I
could. I will, if you ask it.” Mr. Carton’s manner was so careless as
to be almost insolent. He stood, half turned from the prisoner,
lounging with his elbow against the bar.

“I do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks.” “What,” said Carton, still
only half turned towards him, “do you expect, Mr. Darnay?” “The
worst.” “It’s the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think
their withdrawing is in your favour.”

Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard no
more: but left them-so like each other in feature, so unlike each
other in manner-standing side by side, both reflected in the glass
above them.

An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal
crowded passages below, even though assisted off with mutton
pies and ale. The hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a
form after taking that refection, had dropped into a doze, when a
loud murmur and a rapid tide of people setting up the stairs that
led to the court, carried him along with them.

“Jerry! Jerry!” Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door when he
got there.
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