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Here, Mr. Lorry became aware, from where he sat, of a most remarkable goblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he discovered it to be caused by a sudden extraordinary rising and stiffening of all the risen and stiff hair on Mr. Cruncher’s head. From where he was sitting, Mr. Lorry suddenly became aware of a strange goblin-like shadow on the wall. He looked to where it was coming from and discovered that it was caused by Mr. Cruncher’s hair, which had suddenly risen and stiffened even more than usual.
“Let us be reasonable,” said the spy, “and let us be fair. To show you how mistaken you are, and what an unfounded assumption yours is, I will lay before you a certificate of Cly’s burial, which I happened to have carried in my pocket-book,” with a hurried hand he produced and opened it, “ever since. There it is. Oh, look at it, look at it! You may take it in your hand; it’s no forgery.” “Let’s be reasonable,” said Barsad. “Let’s be fair. To show you how wrong you are and that your assumptions have no basis of truth, I will show you Cly’s death certificate, which I happen to have carried in my pocketbook ever since.” He took it out quickly and opened it. “There it is. Look at it! Pick it up. It’s not a forgery.”
Here, Mr. Lorry perceived the reflection on the wall to elongate, and Mr. Cruncher rose and stepped forward. His hair could not have been more violently on end, if it had been that moment dressed by the Cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built. Mr. Lorry saw the shadow on the wall grow longer, and Mr. Cruncher stepped forward. His hair could not have been standing up any more if it had been arranged by

the cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built

the quote, which describes a cowlick, is from “This Is the House That Jack Built,” by Mother Goose

the cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built
Unseen by the spy, Mr. Cruncher stood at his side, and touched him on the shoulder like a ghostly bailiff. Barsad didn’t see Mr. Cruncher standing beside him, and Mr. Cruncher tapped him on the shoulder.
“That there Roger Cly, master,” said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn and iron-bound visage. “So YOU put him in his coffin?” “So you put Roger Cly in his coffin, master?” asked Mr. Cruncher, coldly.
“I did.” “I did.”
“Who took him out of it?” “Who took him out of it?”
Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, “What do you mean?” Barsad leaned back in his chair. He said, stuttering, “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Mr. Cruncher, “that he warn’t never in it. No! Not he! I’ll have my head took off, if he was ever in it.” “I mean that he was never in it,” said Mr. Cruncher. “No! He wasn’t. You can chop off my head if he was ever in it.”
The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both looked in unspeakable astonishment at Jerry. Barsad looked around at Mr. Carton and Mr. Lorry. They both looked at Jerry in astonishment.
“I tell you,” said Jerry, “that you buried paving-stones and earth in that there coffin. Don’t go and tell me that you buried Cly. It was a take in. Me and two more knows it.” “I tell you that you buried cobblestones and dirt in that coffin,” said Jerry. “Don’t tell me that you buried Cly. It was a scam. I and two more people know it.”
“How do you know it?” “How do you know?”
“What’s that to you? Ecod!” growled Mr. Cruncher, “it’s you I have got a old grudge again, is it, with your shameful impositions upon tradesmen! I’d catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.” “Why do you care, by God!” growled Mr. Cruncher. “You’re the person I have an old grudge against, aren’t you? Causing trouble for an honest businessman? I’d choke you to death for half a guinea.”
Sydney Carton, who, with Mr. Lorry, had been lost in amazement at this turn of the business, here requested Mr. Cruncher to moderate and explain himself. Sydney Carton and Mr. Lorry were amazed by this unexpected turn. Carton asked Mr. Cruncher to calm down and explain himself.
“At another time, sir,” he returned, evasively, “the present time is ill-conwenient for explainin’. What I stand to, is, that he knows well wot that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say he was, in so much as a word of one syllable, and I’ll either catch hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea;” Mr. Cruncher dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; “or I’ll out and announce him.” “I’ll explain some other time, sir,” he answered evasively. “Now is not the time to explain. I say that he knows full well that Cly was never in that coffin. Let him say one syllable of one word that he was, and I’ll choke him to death for half a guinea—” Mr. Cruncher made this sound like a generous offer “—or I’ll go outside and accuse him.”
“Humph! I see one thing,” said Carton. “I hold another card, Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the air, for you to outlive denunciation, when you are in communication with another aristocratic spy of the same antecedents as yourself, who, moreover, has the mystery about him of having feigned death and come to life again! A plot in the prisons, of the foreigner against the Republic. A strong card—a certain Guillotine card! Do you play?” “Humph! I see one thing,” said Carton. “I hold another card, Mr. Barsad. There is a violent atmosphere, full of suspicion, here in Paris. It would be impossible for you to live through being accused of communicating with another aristocratic spy who has the same history as your own. Someone who also faked his own death and has come back to life again! You will be accused of being a foreigner who was starting plots in the prisons against the Republic. That is a good card, a card that will certainly send you to the guillotine. Will you play your hand?”