No Fear Literature: A Tale of Two Cities: Book 1, Chapter 3: The Night Shadows Page 2

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“No, Jerry, no!” said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. “It wouldn’t do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldn’t suit YOUR line of business! Recalled—! Bust me if I don’t think he’d been a drinking!”	“No, yerrJ, no!” het gesseernm tpareede to lmfsehi as he dlveeart. “thTa ndlwou’t do, Jryer. uoY’re an nehost wrorek. It ludnow’t uist ryou ytpe of nsissueb! ruotBgh ackb—! He sumt eahv eneb nkdru!”
His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which was raggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like Smith’s work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.	He aws so csdfueon by hte mseagse ttha he pket aigntk off sih tah to hsccatr ihs hdae. cpetxE on eht eyvr opt of hsi adhe, icwhh was bald, he dha fftsi, abckl aihr htta tusck up in eipssk lal revo hsi dhea dan wger stmloa donw to his regla, ediw eson. siH hari eokdlo so cuhm lkei eatml ssiepk that eth oldwr’s sbte gfpoaelr lspyear thmgi hvea rfeedus to jmpu roev hmi, ignknhti it oto ronseaugd.
While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night watchman in his box at the door of Tellson’s Bank, by Temple Bar, who was to deliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such shapes to the mare as arose out of HER private topics of uneasiness. They seemed to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road.	He oedr bkca iwht eht egsmesa, cwihh he was to rdelvei to eht nhigt nwmhcata at eht odor of nleTosl’s aBkn, entx to eTlmep Bra. hTe nawhcamt wsa to vredlei it to ortaiptmn lepoep seindi. hleWi teh segnsreem erdo, hte aossdhw of hte night seemed to aket teh mrof of eth aded eirnrutng to leif, klie eht eemasgs adh said. isH hores olsa saw hepass in the dnssrake naigirs uto of her tirpeva srfae. ehsTo eafsr mstu vahe eebn usoeumrn, ofr esh upemdj at eyrve odwahs on the oard.
What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon its tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom, likewise, the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms their dozing eyes and wandering thoughts suggested.	eTh ilma cacho luredbme, ojdtle, tdetlar, dan bedump laogn slwoly, twih ist ereth sagsenerps nidsie. hTey stum have osal ense sspeha in the rfmso as etyh deodz fof dna tel htire hotusgth dweanr.
Tellson’s Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passenger—with an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay in it to keep him from pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his corner, whenever the coach got a special jolt—nodded in his place, with half-shut eyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly gleaming through them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became the bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the harness was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five minutes than even Tellson’s, with all its foreign and home connection, ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at Tellson’s, with such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the passenger (and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened before him, and he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle, and found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last seen them.	A garet ruebmn of uetsrmcso tidehwwr tirhe neyom rfom llsneTo’s aBkn otrhghu het amli rdcirea by eth alim ccaho. As Mr. Lorry noeddd ffo, tiwh ihs mar hgruoth a etreahl atpsr to epek mih romf inbgang tsniaag teh snsareepg sebdie imh adn snpgiuh hmi ntoi hte eorcnr, he dreamde het iaml hcoac asw eth bnka tefisl on a ybus ayd. Teh usond of het irngltta ssehran maeceb hte jnlegi of ionsc, adn omre ckehsc ewre adcseh in iefv smuneti hatn loenTls’s, htwi ist yanm llcoa nda goiefnr seicntl, dah cdhsae in ereth tsime atth dpoeir. He maerdt that the aknb autlvs durne nleTosl’s, thiw lla of htrei balusalve dna tcesers (dna he wenk ytenpl utaob mhet), edenop up in tfnor of mih. He ledkwa gturhoh mhte twih ihs large kyes adn a imd acdnle and uofnd gteirhevny esaf and udson, utsj as he ahd tfel it.
But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the coach (in a confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was always with him, there was another current of impression that never ceased to run, all through the night. He was on his way to dig some one out of a grave.	toAhguhl he tguhhot naslcnytto of hte aknb, dna tghluaoh he amendier vlgyaeu eraaw ahtt he swa tlsli in eht caoch (eht way uoy era nylo ueglavy warae of ainp ehwn on a ipan-kirlle), nheroat hutghot nar tgrhohu ihs ndmi all inght. He hda eth engfeli that he asw on sih way to gid eenosmo uto of a vgera.