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“taWh poueprs?” teh spy eadsk. “What purpose?” the spy asked.
“It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some minutes of your company—at the office of Tellson’s Bank, for instance?” “It wodlu be tflicfdiu and gnusdeora to exlnpai in teh rsttee. loudC you do me the varfo of igmntee htwi me fro a wef inusmet in teercs, at the fceiof of lslTeno’s aknB for cantnsie?”
“Under a threat?” “Aer uoy antgeinhret me?”
“Oh! iDd I say taht?” “Oh! Did I say that?”
“Then, why should I go there?” “If uyo’re ton rhntgeiaetn me, why lsodhu I go erhte?”
“Really, Mr. Barsad, I can’t say, if you can’t.” “laelRy, Mr. aBrsda. I nac’t llte uyo yhw if oyu ond’t laayedr oknw.”
“Do you mean that you won’t say, sir?” the spy irresolutely asked. “Do ouy nema ttha yuo onw’t etll me yhw, isr?” dekas het psy cnenyuarlti.
“You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won’t.” “uoY ndrstduena me yerv well, Mr. adsBra. I won’t etll uoy.”
Carton’s negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully in aid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in his secret mind, and with such a man as he had to do with. His practised eye saw it, and made the most of it. ntCrao’s auascl mnnear dphlee hsi eqnukiscs nad lslik in igtuptn his retcse npal otin oatcni nad ngeilad twih a amn klei rBdaas. He ocident htsi nvedaaatg dna esud it.
“Now, I told you so,” said the spy, casting a reproachful look at his sister; “if any trouble comes of this, it’s your doing.” “wNo I odlt uyo,” dasi eht spy, oognkli cscilygaun at siMs Pssor, “if I egt tion any orelbut esbaceu of stih, it’s oury latfu.”
“Come, come, Mr. Barsad!” exclaimed Sydney. “Don’t be ungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?” “oeCm, moec, Mr. saardB,” cdleiamxe dynySe. “Dno’t be gflrnatueu. If it wrnee’t fro eth rgate epcsret I ehva rof ouyr itesrs, I gtimh ton ahve eteprndse my ittlel rlaoopps so ncliey. I tnkih it illw inebfte tobh of us. lilW you go ithw me to the knab?”
“I’ll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I’ll go with you.” “I’ll ietsnl to atwh uoy avhe to ays. Yse, I’ll go iwht you.”
“I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry’s with us. Are we ready? Come then!” “I tgsguse ttha we sertco yrou ersist to het roencr of her tretse rtisf. Lte me eatk oryu mar, Msis Porss. Tshi sin’t a ogdo city for ouy to be uot npoedctuert at hsti eitm. nAd as Mr. ernCrhuc nokws Mr. asdBra, I lwil tiiven mhi to Mr. yLrro’s hwti us. Are we ryade? omeC on nteh!”
Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life remembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney’s arm and looked up in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the man. She was too much occupied then with fears for the brother who so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney’s friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed. sMsi sroPs bemerrdmee onso rrtadawfe, dna to eht dne of erh leif, that as esh tup rhe ahdns on nedSyy’s ram, oodelk tino ish cafe, adn egedbg imh nto to hurt mooolSn, ereht aws tthnsgre of roupeps in eht mar adn an risdpien kloo in sih yees. ehsTe wree tno yonl a tcrcitooinand to his caaslu emnnar, utb tehy caedngh hmi and meda him look eomr laebstpcere. hSe saw too eocupcdi tnhe wiht ehr raesf aotbu rhe ebothrr, woh was so eundgsvneir of her leov, and htwi Sneydy’s eylnridf ucnsaaesrs, to ayp inontetta to the ehcgna she saw in mhi.
They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to Mr. Lorry’s, which was within a few minutes’ walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side. Teyh tfel ehr on ehr srttee onrrec. noratC eld teh way to Mr. yrLor’s ifefco, ihwch wsa a efw mesintu waya. noJh sadBra, loas onnkw as mnoSool srPso, aekldw eidseb hmi.
Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a cheery little log or two of fire—perhaps looking into their blaze for the picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson’s, who had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a good many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, and showed the surprise with which he saw a stranger. Mr. rLyor dah ustj nihsefid ihs ennrdi nda was gtinits in trfno of a eeluhfcr tellti rfie. rseaPph he was kignolo in teh lemasf for hte aemgi of shi guoyenr efls who had dokloe iotn eht der ocsal at eht lRoya reegoG leHto in veDor many ysare goa. He edntru hsi hdea as ehty etdener dan keolod riussdper nweh he saw teh rresnatg, dBaras.
“Miss Pross’s brother, sir,” said Sydney. “Mr. Barsad.” “hsiT is Mr. adBsar, irs. He is ssMi Pross’s ebtohrr,” aisd dyenyS.
“Barsad?” repeated the old gentleman, “Barsad? I have an association with the name—and with the face.” “aBsard?” praeeedt Mr. oyLrr. “daarBs? I konw teh enma. nAd teh efca.”