A Tale of Two Cities by Dave Mckay, Charles Dickens (sight word books TXT) 📕

"And why was that?"

"I think it may have been because of you. You were always driving and breaking and pushing and shouldering to the point where I had nothing left to do but to rest and to rust. But it is boring to talk about one's past when the sun is almost up. Turn me in some other direction before I go."

"Well, then, let's have a drink to the beautiful witness," said Stryver, lifting his glass. "Tell me that isn't a good direction."

He must not have thought so, because his spirits dropped again. "Beautiful witness?” he said softly. "I've had enough of witnesses today and tonight. Who are you talking about?"

"The beautiful doctor's daughter, Miss Manette.”

"She? Beautiful?"

"Isn't she?"

"No."

"Don't be foolish. Everyone in the court loved her."

"To hell with the love of the court. What made the Old Bailey the judge of who is beautiful? She was just a doll with golden hair."

"Do you know, Sydney," Stryver said with a sharp eye, and pulling his hand across his red face, "do you know, that I had the feeling at the time that you were very interested in this doll with the golden hair. You were the first to see what happened to her when she was feeling faint."

"First to see? If a girl, doll or not, faints just a few feet from a man's nose, he can see it without a telescope. I'll drink to her, but I won't say that she was beautiful. And that's all for me. I'll not have another drink tonight. It's time I went to bed."

When Mr. Stryver took Carton out to the steps, carrying a candle to show him the way, the day was starting to show like it was coming through a dirty window. Outside the house, the air was cold and sad, the grey sky cloudy, the river dark, and the whole scene like a desert of death. Dirt from the streets moved in circles with the early morning winds like a warning to the city about a wild sand storm coming from far away.

Feeling empty, inside and out, this man stopped on a quiet piece of garden in the middle of a wide road to see in his mind, one who was sincere, hard-working, and faithful. He lived in a beautiful city, where all the good things of life were his, where the waters were full of hope, and where love looked kindly on him. But in a second the vision was gone. He climbed to a room at the top of a square of houses, threw himself down in his clothes on a messy bed, and wet the pillow with his tears.

Sadly, sadly, the sun came up. It came up on nothing sadder than the man with good abilities and good feelings, who, not able to make himself follow rules and not able to see what it was doing to him, chose instead to let it eat away at him.

6. Hundreds of People

Doctor Manette's quiet rooms were on a quiet street corner not far from Soho Square. On a clear Sunday afternoon, four months after Mr. Darnay had been found innocent of treason, Mr. Jarvis Lorry was walking along the sunny streets from where he lived toward the Doctor's house, to have dinner with him. Over and above all of his interest in business, Mr. Lorry had found time to become the Doctor's friend, and the quiet street corner had become the sunny part of his life.

On this beautiful afternoon there were three reasons for Mr. Lorry to be walking over to the Doctor's house. The first was that he often went for walks with the Doctor and Lucie before dinner on clear Sundays. The second was that on cloudy or rainy Sundays he often stayed inside with them as a friend of the family, talking, reading, or looking out the window. And the third was that today he had his own little questions that needed answers, and from what he knew of the Manettes, this would be a good time to get his answers.

There was not a nicer corner to be found in London, than the one where the Doctor lived. The windows of the Doctor's rooms looked out on the corner, and in those days there were few buildings around it. One could see trees and wild flowers, and there were peaches growing not far from there. The clean air of the country was free to move about, instead of slowly dying out like a lost beggar in a jungle of buildings.

In the early part of the day, the summer sun was quite bright there on the corner. But later in the day, when it was becoming hot, the corner would be in shadows; not dark shadows but a cool, quiet, and friendly place where one could listen to the sounds of busy streets not far away.

It was the perfect place for a ship to come and hide from the storms of life; and the two floors of a very big house where the Doctor had his rooms had become that ship. There were signs to say that other businesses were going on in the same building, but there was very little sound from them by day, and even less by night. In a building at the back, on the other side of a closed in yard where a tree with big green leaves grew, it was said that church pianos were made. And a sign, projecting like a giant golden arm from the front wall said that gold and silver could be made into jewelry there, as if the man doing it had changed himself into gold and was promising to do the same to others who came to visit him. Very little was ever seen or heard of these businesses, or of the man who was said to live alone at the top of the building, or of a half-blind man who made parts for coaches who was said to have an office below. At times one would see a worker walking through the building while putting his coat on, or a stranger looking for someone, or the sound of a tool hitting something in the distance, either from across the yard or from the golden giant. But these were only little happenings that proved the bigger rule, which was that the sparrows in the big tree in the yard and the quiet sounds of movement off in the distance had their way on that corner from Sunday morning until Saturday night.

Doctor Manette received patients here who heard of his ability in whispers from others who had been there. His education, hard work, and ability were enough to bring all the people he needed to make as much as he wanted.

Mr. Jarvis Lorry knew these things, and was thinking about them when he pushed the door bell of the quiet house on the corner on that beautiful Sunday afternoon.

"Is Doctor Manette at home?”

"He will be soon."

"Is Miss Lucie at home?” "She will be soon."

"Is Miss Pross at home?"

Maybe, but she was not sure, because the servant did not yet know if Miss Pross wanted to make that known.

"As I am at home myself, I will go up," said Mr. Lorry.

The Doctor's daughter would not have remembered anything from the country where she was born, but she still had the French ability to make much of very little. As simple as the furniture was, she had added a few cheap but nice little things that had the effect of making the whole scene quite beautiful. Her good taste could be seen in everything in the room. As Mr. Lorry looked around, it was like even the chairs and tables were asking if he liked the place.

Each floor had three rooms, and the doors between them had been left open to let the air move freely between them. Mr. Lorry, smiling to himself, walked from room to room. The first room was the best one. In it were Lucie's flowers, and birds, and books, and desk, and work table, and box of paints. The second was the Doctor's office, also used for meals. The third, made alive by light coming in through the movement of the big tree outside the window, was the Doctor's bedroom, and there in the corner was the Doctor's old shoemaking bench and box of tools, much as they had been in the room on the fifth floor of the dark house by the wine shop in the Saint Antoine part of Paris.

"Now why would he keep that?” Mr. Lorry asked himself quietly as he stopped in front of the bench. "It must only make him think of that awful time in his past."

"And why should you ask a question like that?” came a voice behind him, making him jump. It had come from Miss Pross, the wild woman in red, the one with the strong hand, whom he had first met at the King George Hotel in Dover. They had since become much better friends.

"I would have thought...” Mr. Lorry started.

"Really? You would have thought?” said Miss Pross, and Mr. Lorry left it at that.

Then she said sharply, yet in a in a way that was to show she was not angry at him, "How do you do?"

"I'm well, thank you," Mr. Lorry answered kindly. "How are you?"

"Nothing to be proud of," said Miss Pross.

"Is that true?"

"Yes, it is.” said Miss Pross. "I am very worried about Ladybird."

"Is that true?"

"Mercy me! Do say something besides 'Is that true?' or you will worry me to death," said Miss Pross, whose way (so opposite to her size) was to be short with those around her.

"Really, then?” Mr. Lorry said, as a way of changing his answer.

"Really is bad enough," returned Miss Pross, "but better. Yes, I am very much put out."

"May I ask why?"

"I don't want dozens of people who are not at all good enough for Ladybird to come here looking after her," said Miss Pross.

"Do dozens of people come for that reason?"

"Hundreds," said Miss Pross.

'It was the way of this woman (as has been for others both before and since) when questioned about saying more than what was true to make it worse, and by doing it, adding to the sin.

"My, my!" said Mr. Lorry, as the safest thing he could think of to say.

"I have lived with my sweet one -- or my sweet one has lived with me, and never paid me for it -- which she surely should never have done.-- since she was ten years old. But it's really very hard now."

Not seeing clearly what was so hard about it, Mr. Lorry just shook his head, using that important part of himself to hide from having to give a clear answer.

"So many people who are not in the least measure good enough for Ladybird, are always turning up," said Miss Pross. "When you started it..."

"I started it, Miss Pross?"

"Didn't you? Who brought her father back to life?”

"Oh, if that was starting it...” said Mr. Lorry.

"Well, it wasn't ending it, was it? I say, when you started it, it was hard enough, not that I have any argument with Doctor Manette, apart from him not being good enough for such a daughter, which he cannot help, for there is no one who could be good enough for her. But it really is two or three times harder to have crowds of people turning up after him to take Ladybird's love away from me."

Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous of Lucie, but he also knew by this time that, under her rough covering, she was one of those kind people -- and they are always women -- who will, for love alone, make themselves willing slaves to qualities in others that are not really there. He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart. It is so free from any thought of making money, that his own feeling about Miss Pross was that she was much nearer to being an angel than many women who were much more beautiful and who had wealth at Tellson's.

"There never was, and there never will be but one man good enough for Ladybird," said Miss Pross, "and that was my brother Solomon, if only he had not made one wrong choice."

Mr. Lorry had learned enough from Miss Pross' history to know that her brother Solomon was a hard-hearted man who had robbed her of all that she owned, only to waste it on a plan to get rich that did not work, and then he had left her, without any feeling of guilt about what he had done. Miss Pross' belief in him (taking off very little for his 'one wrong choice') was a serious part of why Mr. Lorry thought so highly of Miss Pross.

"As we happen to be alone for a while, and are both busy people," he said when they were back in the sitting room and seated, "let me ask you -- does the Doctor, in talking with Lucie, ever, even now, talk about the time when he made shoes?"

"Never."

"And