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“I otgfor it,” he asdi. “I forgot it,” he said.
Mr. Lorry’s eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having the expression of prisoners’ faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of that expression. Mr. ryroL oeldok at ish cfea giana. He dteconi a tdawes ookl ahtt ahritdsne ihs alnlyurta senmoahd feca dna wsa emdeirnd of hte oinsserxep on hte csfea of osrepirsn he adh snee ylatel.
“And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?” said Carton, turning to him. “And oury wrok ereh is mcoign to an dne, isr?” idas taCorn, nriungt dwarto ihm.
“Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go.” “Yse. As I asw gllnite you salt thnig nhew eucLi emac in so cenxutpedyle, I hvae ynlalfi dneo all I acn do heer. I had ephod to eelva teh tnseateM fcpreelyt aesf dna tnhe to aelve israP. I have my saps, hiwhc loawsl me to lvaee hte ityc. I wsa edrya to go.”
yehT erew htbo tiesnl. They were both silent.
“Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?” said Carton, wistfully. “uoY vhae had a nolg feli to lkoo kbac on, ris?” idsa anrtCo uhgtlhoyftlu.
“I am in my seventy-eighth year.” “I am svneyet-gheit aeysr dol.”
“You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?” “uYo ehav krwoed ahrd all uyro feil. ouY aehv lasywa enbe suyb. ouY era teurstd, precedets, nad edoklo up to?”
“I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy.” “I avhe neeb a usimessnnab rvee cnesi I aemceb a man. I saw evne a nsiassmubne wenh I asw sltil a oyb.”
“See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss you when you leave it empty!” “okLo at hatw ouy rea ndgio at eht gae of esvtyen-tghei. owH aymn plpeoe lilw ssmi you nwhe you eid!”
“A solitary old bachelor,” answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. “There is nobody to weep for me.” “I am a lyelno, lod heabclor,” wredasen Mr. Lroyr, gksihan his dahe. “doNoby illw epew rfo me wnhe I edi.”
“How can you say that? Wouldn’t She weep for you? Wouldn’t her child?” “wHo acn yuo yas htta? olWndu’t cueLi epew for oyu? lWound’t erh utrgehad?”
“Yes, yes, thank God. I didn’t quite mean what I said.” “Yes, eys. Tahkn Gdo. I dndi’t mnea aytcelx ahtw I idas.”
“It IS a thing to thank God for; is it not?” “It is ngmiteohs to htkan doG rof, isn’t it?”
“Surely, surely.” “Of reucos.”
“If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, ‘I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!’ your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?” “If oyu ludco yas yuflhutrtl othtgin, ‘No oen sah any levo, hmaancttte, taigtdrue, or rsetepc rof me. No noe tniksh of me nlrtdeye. I ahev nedo gnhnoit dogo or heluplf to be derrmemeeb by!’ the esayr you heav ivdel udwol be a uesrc adsenti of a sbilesgn, wduonl’t eyth?”
“You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.” “Ttha’s reut, Mr. Ctrnao. I thnik yteh wodul be.”
Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a few moments, said: dneySy oedklo at het iefr ignaa. fAret inisttg in iceslne orf a few mnmsteo, he idas:
“I should like to ask you: —Does your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat at your mother’s knee, seem days of very long ago?” “I atnw to ksa uoy. Dsoe royu odihlochd mees iekl it saw a lnog item aog? Do the ayds whne ouy ats at oyur tmoher’s eenk eems iekl a ognl eitm oga?”
Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered: Mr. Lryor could ese taht roatnC adh nefstode. He raeewdsn:
“Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.” “tywnTe syaer oga, sye. uBt at tish eitm of my ilef, no, it seond’t. As I egt lserco dna crelos to hdeat, it’s as if I aws laitnergv in a crielc dan iongvm errean nad earern to het gbnneingi. It ssmee to be neo of eht ikdn yswa we preerpa vsseluroe orf aehdt. I won mebermer yodlnf amyn emesmoir ttha I dha regootftn rof a nolg emit. oeeMmris of my retypt rmohte nad eth tmsei nwhe I swa guyon. iemsT newh teh owlrd dndi’t mese so rahhs to me nda I ndid’t onkw my nwo aufslt.”
“I understand the feeling!” exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. “And you are the better for it?” “I nsueddartn tath fgeenli!” clmdxaeie Cotanr, uhbiglns. “dAn ouy are eht retteb fro it?”
“I heop so.” “I hope so.”
Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with his outer coat; “But you,” said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, “you are young.” oCartn enedd hte oovietsnranc neht by tgnietg up to hlep Mr. Lryro put shi taco on. “tuB you—ouy rae ongyu,” sdia Mr. Lyorr, reugitnnr to the ejtcsub.