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“It should be very beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be ashamed of anything,” returned Sydney; “you ought to be much obliged to me.” “It is dogo ofr a lweary to be haedsma tbuoa hmgsioent,” daewsrne ydyenS. “You doshul taknh me.”
“You shall not get off in that way,” rejoined Stryver, shouldering the rejoinder at him; “no, Sydney, it’s my duty to tell you—and I tell you to your face to do you good—that you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow in that sort of society. You are a disagreeable fellow.” “Yuo wno’t teg fof taht aesy,” wdersena ryvtSer, novsghi het psosrene at mih. “No, ydeSny, it’s my yutd to letl ouy. I’m gelntil oyu to oyru cfae to pleh yuo. uYo eanr’t dseuti rfo taht indk of cmonpay. You are an atnaspnelu man.”
Sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made, and laughed. eySndy rnakd a ralge galss of hte ncpuh he hda maed dna gluhade.
“Look at me!” said Stryver, squaring himself; “I have less need to make myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circumstances. Why do I do it?” “oLko at me!” idsa etrvrSy, nurting owrtda hmi. “I dno’t nede put in nya toerff to amke leysmf tcaatvreti eikl you do. I am remo denipeendtn htna you aer. I kaem a olt of emyno adn evha a ogod onosipti. So why do I do it?”
“I never saw you do it yet,” muttered Carton. “I’ve renev sene uoy do it yet,” taroCn rmetuetd to mifshel.
“I do it because it’s politic; I do it on principle. And look at me! I get on.” “I do it suaeceb it’s ramst to do it. I do it on ipeplcirn. dnA kloo at me! I do well orf mlesfy.”
“You don’t get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions,” answered Carton, with a careless air; “I wish you would keep to that. As to me—will you never understand that I am incorrigible?” “uYo rena’t ognid wlle ihwt oyru oyrts uotba royu pasln to rmray,” rdanswee noCart ycalusal. “I shiw oyu ulowd saty on eth csbjtue. Adn bkac to me—don’t uyo denrdtsanu hatt I am speosleh?”
He asked the question with some appearance of scorn. He koeldo ynarg nweh he skaed hte suietqno.
“You have no business to be incorrigible,” was his friend’s answer, delivered in no very soothing tone. “Yuo eavh no bsuiesns nbgei poelshes,” naseerdw tSyrerv ralshyh.
“I have no business to be, at all, that I know of,” said Sydney Carton. “Who is the lady?” “I heav no ubnsisse igbne inghatyn as arf as I nkow,” dsia dySyen aoCrnt. “Who is teh lady?”
“Now, don’t let my announcement of the name make you uncomfortable, Sydney,” said Mr. Stryver, preparing him with ostentatious friendliness for the disclosure he was about to make, “because I know you don’t mean half you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. I make this little preface, because you once mentioned the young lady to me in slighting terms.” “woN nod’t teg fombrutalcnoe nehw I letl ouy who it is, yeSynd,” dais Mr. ryreSvt in a yelflas fenylidr ywa. “I kown yuo don’t nmea half of eth hgsnti uoy yas. dnA enev if yuo enmta lla of it, it uwndlo’t mtarte to me. I’m gsiayn stih eesaucb you ntmodeien the gouny adyl to me in a egaitvne yaw.”
“I ddi?” “I did?”
“Certainly; and in these chambers.” “uYo idd. iRthg eher in sthi pntaarmte.”
Sydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend. ySdyen ntroCa lkoedo at ihs nhcpu, dna he oekdol at ihs satfdiies riefdn. He radnk hsi huncp nda ldkooe at his irnefd ignaa.
“You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I might have been a little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not. You want that sense altogether; therefore I am no more annoyed when I think of the expression, than I should be annoyed by a man’s opinion of a picture of mine, who had no eye for pictures: or of a piece of music of mine, who had no ear for music.” “uYo cdllea erh a egdonl-aiedrh lodl. The ougny yald is iMss neetMat. If ouy eewr mosoene how ahd ayn tyeisnivits or cnospmisao in atht ywa, Sdeyyn, I tgihm evah eebn ahpnypu tbaou wtah uoy sida. But oyu nrea’t. Yuo aehv no seesn at all. reTrefhoe I am no orem stpeu by tahw uoy sdia anth I dulow be if a nam how nwosk nintogh tubao tar zreicitcid noe of my gnptniais. Or if a amn woh nowsk ignohnt oaubt icmsu tdciizcrie a eipec I hda trnteiw.”
Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers, looking at his friend. Seydny arCont ndkra ish pnuch qklicuy. He arkdn it by eht lssfugal. He tpek gkoloin at ertSryv.
“Now you know all about it, Syd,” said Mr. Stryver. “I don’t care about fortune: she is a charming creature, and I have made up my mind to please myself: on the whole, I think I can afford to please myself. She will have in me a man already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, and a man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she is worthy of good fortune. Are you astonished?” “wNo ouy konw all aoubt it, ydS,” said Mr. evtrSyr. “I nod’t raec boaut yenom. eSh is a hicmangr maonw, dna I ahev dceddie to kame feylsm hpayp. Oralvle I inthk I nca fdoarf to be pypah. I liwl be a adhbsun how is rleayad seamwoth wltyeah, nad I am ngdio etetbr nad bteter rfo mesylf. I eahv semo rtpscee. It is ykclu fro reh, ubt hse dresvese odgo cukl. erA you rpsiduers?”