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In a building at the back, attainable by a courtyard where a plane-
tree rustled its green leaves, church-organs claimed to be made,
and silver to be chased, and likewise gold to be beaten by some
mysterious giant who had a golden arm starting out of the wall of
the front hall-as if he had beaten himself precious, and menaced a
similar conversion of all visitors. Very little of these trades, or of a
lonely lodger rumoured to live up-stairs, or of a dim coach-
trimming maker asserted to have a counting-house below, was
ever heard or seen. Occasionally, a stray workman putting his coat
on, traversed the hall, or a stranger peered about there, or a distant
clink was heard across the courtyard, or a thump from the golden
giant. These, however, were only the exceptions required to prove
the rule that the sparrows in the plane-tree behind the house, and
the echoes in the corner before it, had their own way from Sunday
morning unto Saturday night.

Doctor Manette received such patients here as his old reputation,
and its revival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him.
His scientific knowledge, and his vigilance and skill in conducting
ingenious experiments, brought him otherwise into moderate
request, and he earned as much as he wanted.

These things were within Mr. Jarvis Lorry’s knowledge, thoughts,
and notice, when he rang the door-bell of the tranquil house in the
corner, on the fine Sunday afternoon.

“Doctor Manette at home?” Expected home.
“Miss Lucie at home?” Expected home.
“Miss Pross at home?” Possibly at home, but of a certainty
impossible for handmaid to anticipate intentions of Miss Pross, as
to admission or denial of the fact.

“As I am at home myself,” said Mr. Lorry, “I’ll go upstairs.”
Although the Doctor’s daughter had known nothing of the country
of her birth, she appeared to have innately derived from it that
ability to make much of little means, which is one of its most useful
and most agreeable characteristics.

Simple as the furniture was, it was set off by so many little
adornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its effect
was delightful. The disposition of everything in the rooms, from
the largest object to the least; the arrangement of colours, the
elegant variety and contrast obtained by thrift in trifles, by delicate
hands, clear eyes, and good sense; were at once so pleasant in
themselves, and so expressive of their originator, that, as Mr. Lorry
stood looking about him, the very chairs and tables seemed to ask
him, with something of that peculiar expression which he knew so
well by this time, whether he approved? There were three rooms
on a floor, and, the doors by which they communicated being put
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